Lovers in a Dangerous Time
by catmint tea
Summary: Steve meets the girl from the café up the street. Steve/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Lovers in a Dangerous Time**

* * *

She owned the café on the corner.

The one with the best minestrone he'd ever tasted. The one with the ugly plaid couches and the mismatched dishes. The one with the sketches on the wall and the giant squid painted in purple on the bathroom door. It was a hole-in-the-wall, unassuming and quiet place, frequented by students, hipsters, and senior citizens, a crowd of regulars who made it comfortably busy, but not too much so.

Steve appreciated the place. When he wasn't bashing the brains of bad guys with his shield, he liked to come here to unwind. Coffee and a newspaper. Simple things.

He'd found himself talking to her one afternoon. The café closed at three, but she'd flipped the sign and ushered him in anyway, making him sit down and bringing him a bowl of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. She'd sat across from him, cradling a café allongé in her long, thin fingers, with their chipped black nail polish. Here he was, talking to this strange girl as if he'd known her all his life - without even a hint of the awkwardness that usually accompanied his interactions with women.

And she was strange, all right. She had a fierce face - the nose a little sharp to be conventionally pretty, and something mysterious about her hazel eyes, peering at him over her glasses. Her hair was a riot of curls, which had been dyed bright blue. She was a combination of bookish and artsy, usually dressing in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, sometimes with a knit cap keeping her crazy hair at bay.

After the Chitauri attacks on New York City, Steve had eaten shawarma with his teammates, but on their way to scatter to the wind like dandelion seeds, he'd stopped by the café.

The windows had cardboard in them - blown out by one of the many explosions of that day. He sighed in relief as he read, scrawled in her looping hand, in black paint (or was it shoe polish?): "I assure you, we're open."

"Hey, are you open?" he called out, as he opened the door.

"First to make that joke today, you are. Hurr hurr. Funneeeeeee joke," came the reply, in a Yoda approximation that went right over his head. "Oh, hey, Slick. Flip the sign, will ya?"

Steve turned the "open" sign to "closed", and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She caught sight of his uniform in the dim light, and her mouth worked, opening and closing like a goldfish.

"Yeah, I'm tiguidou," she told him. "I'm running the backup generator, so all the juice I have is in the coffee machine and the register." She set about preparing a pot of espresso, her deft hands pulling the machine and coaxing out the beautiful-smelling liquid. She dug under the register and came up with a clear, albeit dusty, bottle, which, when uncorked, smelled a little like liquorice. She poured a liberal amount into each cup, then hopped up on the counter, her legs dangling. She offered him a cup and tapped one of the bar stools with her foot. "Pop a squat."

"What is this?" he asked, taking a tentative sip. The dark, rich flavor of the coffee, the bitterness tempered by the round taste of aniseed, rolled over his tongue and went down smooth. "And you have a generator, good."

"I survived the Ice Storm of '98," she shrugged. "It's a leftover. If the world ends, people will still want their coffee, so I'll be open." She knocked back the espresso laced with liquor. "It's Sambuca, you looked like you needed it. Fortifying. Nonna's special." She tipped more into his cup. "So what's up with the stars and stripes, there, Slick?" she eyed him over her glasses, as he sipped the drink, the warmth seeping through the porcelain cup and into his grazed, bleeding hands.

"Someone had to stop those… things," he told her. "I'm Captain America."

She pursed her lips for a moment, doing some mental arithmetic, then shrugged, looking at him over her shoulder in a very French gesture. "All right."

She hopped down from the counter, the tinny-sounding boom box in the corner playing 80's dance hits. She grabbed a broom, spinning it, then dipping it like a pretty girl, and set about sweeping up some glass.

"Let me help," Steve said, grabbing the garbage can and a dustpan from behind the counter.

"You've got more important things to be doing than helping me clean up this disaster area," she gave him a look.

"All I've got waiting for me is paperwork. I'd rather be here," he scooped some glass into the bin.

"Ew, paperwork," she twirled around to Duran Duran.

"My sentiments exactly," he dumped more glass out. "I suppose this is a weird time to ask if you wanna go for coffee sometime, isn't it?"

She let out a bark of laughter.

"Yep, pretty much the cherry on top of the Crazy Sundae that is my life right now. Coffee date with Captain America," she chuckled, her rich, low voice husky with the laughter. "You know I'm Canadian, right?"

* * *

Their second "date", after she closed up shop, was to a classic movie night. _Gone With The Wind_ was playing, and the two crept into an empty theatre, sitting up at the back. She perched her feet on the seat in front of him - wearing a pair of glittery purple Kicks - and reached for the popcorn.

"That woman was so pretty," she murmured. "Shame what happened to her."

"What did happen to her?" he asked.

"Oh, right, I forgot there's like seventy years of pop culture to fill you in on," she waved a hand. "She was a manic depressive, but she died of TB."

"My Mom died of that," Steve said softly. She squeezed his fingers sympathetically, looking at him curiously. "Well, pneumonia. But the consumption wore her down to nothing first."

"Pretty awful stuff," she shook her head.

* * *

It occurred to Steve, as he was kissing her on her front doorstep at the end of the third date, that they didn't actually know each other's names. The realization hit him a second before she verbalized it.

"I really want you to come up," she told him, pulling out of a kiss for a gasp of air. "And you know what, Slick? I don't even know your real name."

"Steve," he said.

"Eveline," she wrinkled her nose. "Most everyone calls me Evie. Except my mother," she held out her hand, then pulled her hands away and hooked them through his belt loops, pulling him towards her to kiss him again.

"Good night, Evie."

* * *

Their fourth date. They watched a movie on her couch. 80's dance movies were, she assured him, the shit, as she put on the DVD for _Dirty Dancing._

"Why are we watching if they're shit?"

"No, no, THE shit. When something is THE shit, it's the best. If it's just shit, it's garbage."

"I'm never gonna get a handle on this lingo."

"Eh, just fucking curse a lot."

He laughed.

* * *

It was their seventh date. He'd learned so much about her – her parents were divorced, both living in Montreal. "Dad's always chasing after leggy blondes younger than me, ick" – she wrinkled her nose. She still had a living grandmother, her Italian Nonna, to whom Steve could attribute her fabulous cooking skills. She'd made a pan of vegetarian lasagna – had even made the pasta by hand – that absolutely melted in his mouth. They were eating limoncello granita on the fire escape in the July hear when she'd invited him to stay the night.

He'd been surprised at how quickly he said yes.

* * *

She lay spread beneath him, her long, thin limbs encircled by a curling, intricate vine of grapes and leaves inked into her skin. He kissed every leaf as he slid down her body, her gasps and shudders driving him forward. There was nowhere he would rather have been, in this instant, as she drew him into her and spun her magic over him. The softness of her body yielding to the hardness of his, the gentle ebb and flow of the pleasure they drew from each other slowly.

He loved her.

* * *

 **A/N: Dunno where this is going, but I guess I'll find out when we get there. This was very stream-of-consciousness writing.**

 ***tiguidou:** Québécois for 'it's all good'. Pronounced like Tiggy-doo.


	2. Chapter 2

He lay beside her as the morning light streaked through the bamboo blinds, dust motes dancing in the sunbeam. He hadn't returned to the Avengers Tower the night before, but he had let Nat know he was going on a date. Their tenth date. Ten was a good number. Ten dates in six weeks. It was the second time he'd spent the night.

"The girl from Statistics?" Nat had asked. "Or Accounting? I thought you weren't into the lip piercing though."

"Neither," he'd rolled his eyes at her.

"Ooh, color me curious," she batted her eyelashes at him.

"I've been seeing her for a while, but I don't kiss and tell."

"Of course you don't," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Have fun. Be safe. Did someone give you The Talk yet?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "I know about prophylactics, thanks."

Nat guffawed. "Well, for starters, don't call it that in front of her. Do you have any?"

He went red in the face.

"I'll take that as a no," she fished around in her purse, then tossed a three-pack of condoms at him.

"Do you carry those with you everywhere?"

"I'm in a relationship, dolt," she rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to get a banana and show you how to put it on?"

"Eat it, Nat."

"Ooh," she teased. "I bet she taught you that one! I like her already. When are you bringing her around to meet the family?"

"You bunch of nuts? Never, if I can help it," he laughed. "Tony would probably scar her for life."

"He'd certainly do his best."

* * *

The fifteenth date. Tony Stark was throwing a fundraising gala, and he'd decided to invite Evie.

"Good grief," she'd said, when he told her about it. "I was expecting to be like a plus one at a wedding when you asked me if I had anything formal to wear. Black tie affair with a red carpet is a bit more daunting."

"Do you want to come? You'd get to meet the others," he dangled that bait like a prize-winning fisherman.

"I do want to come, but the idea of being in the middle of a photographic circus doesn't thrill me to bits, I'll admit. And you know it'll be nuts, if this is a Tony Stark event," she told him. "But I definitely want to meet your people."

"You'd be helping me out, basically keep the rabid female fans at bay," he joked.

"Oh, great, so I'm arm candy," she teased back. "When is this thing?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?! Jesus, Steve," she put her forehead in her hand. "Okay. It's okay. Attache ta tuque. I'm going to phone Anna to come in and cover the café, and then I'm going to go shopping. I wonder if I can book a hair appointment, too. Alright. I'm coming. But you, get out of my hair. I have phone calls to make."

"You're a doll," he bent to kiss here. "I'll be here to get you at eight."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "Tonight. Men. Jeez."

* * *

Evie did indeed obtain her hair appointment, and managed to find a dress off the rack that fit like a glove. She'd had to put it on her credit card – it was gonna cost an entire month's worth of tips to pay for it – but it was absolutely beautiful.

She stood in her bathroom, mouth agape, as she swiped mascara onto her lashes. She was in her bra and Spanx, applying some simple makeup. Her skills weren't amazing, but she'd managed to get her winged eyeliner matching, and she was going to pair it with a creamy siren red lipstick. She blotted it off of her lips and smiled at herself in the mirror, striking a Beyoncé pose. She laughed at herself, then walked into the bedroom.

The door buzzed as soon as she was zipped into the dress, having had to execute some pretty impressive gymnastics to accomplish this task on her own. She pressed the intercom button. "Yeah?"

"Your chariot awaits, milady," she heard Steve's tinny voice coming through the speaker.

Steve's mouth fell open when she stepped out of the door. She was wearing bright red stiletto heels, and a body-hugging dress. It was nude, with a black lace and beaded overlay, but the color was such that you really had to do a double-take to make sure she was actually wearing _something_ underneath it. It had tight, short sleeves that covered her toned biceps, and showed off her endlessly long legs.

"Wanna pick your jaw off the floor there, Slick?" she teased, giving him a kiss. She was almost as tall as he was in her shoes. She wiped the lipstick off of his face, and slid in through the car door that he held open, before he went back around to the driver's seat.

He was dressed in black tie, a well-fitting, tailored jacket. A lot of men looked like waiters or butlers in their penguin suits, but not Steve – his broad shoulders and narrow waist suited the look.

He drove them back to the Tower.

"You're going to meet the Avengers, first," he told her. "We're going to divvy up into limos after. I've got it so we're riding with Nat, Clint, Darcy, Thor and Jane."

"Perks of being the Captain?" she grinned at him.

"In that dress, I don't want Tony anywhere near you. Keep an eye on him, when he's been drinking he can be…"

"Handsy?" she finished for him. "Believe me, it will only take me about twelve seconds to teach him to never ever do that again."

"I figured," he chuckled.

"I've heard the rumors," she rolled her eyes.

"You're a knockout, seriously," he told her, as he drove.

"I was hoping for that reaction," she chuckled. "Now, if I can compete with the glitz and glam Stark's people will be putting on, I'll be happy."

"Not a problem," he told her. "You're stunning."

"You're looking pretty spiffy yourself, Slick," she covered his hand on the gear shift with her own and squeezed it.

* * *

She had… blue hair.

Not exactly the type of girl Nat had pictured for Steve, but the second she opened her mouth, everyone in the room was half in love with her. She looked oddly familiar, but Nat couldn't place her, and that bothered her.

Everyone in the room was dressed to the nines. Pepper was adjusting Tony's tie as they entered.

"Whoa, hey, what have we here?" Tony peered over Pepper's shoulder. "Dude, she has blue hair."

"Wait, what?" Evie wailed, grasping her head and looking in the mirror in the lobby. "Oh my god! Steve! What did you do to my head?!" Her hair was blown out and curled, a mane of electric blue with deep purple undertones.

"Oh, I like her," Clint stage-whispered to Nat, who grinned at him.

"Guys, this is Evie. Evie, this is Clint, Nat, Tony, Pepper, Bruce, Thor…" he went around the room in sequence.

"I'm never gonna remember all this shit," she admitted, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Oh, wait," she turned to Bruce, a puzzled expression on her face. "Espresso doppio, right?"

"Oh shit!" Bruce's eyes widened. "You work at that café!"

"I own it, actually," she said proudly. "Hurrah, you recognized me!"

"Blue hair would normally do that," Tony said derisively.

"Yeah, but most people see me before they've had their morning caffeine," Evie shrugged. "And I wear a hat a lot. And it used to be black."

"She makes a mean espresso, I tell you," Bruce smiled, shaking her hand.

"Oh, really?" Tony grinned at her, somewhat devilishly. "You make good coffee, you can stick around."

"Thanks, I was hoping I'd get to stick around because of my dashing good looks and my girlish charms," she said flatly. Clint's shoulders shook with silent laughter from his perch behind Tony. Pepper grinned at her.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Evie," Thor said, taking her hand and kissing it. She smiled at him, the laugh lines around her eyes defined. He gave her a twinkling look and a winning smile.

"It's great to meet all of you, too. Steve's told me a lot about you."

"'S all bullshit!" Tony called from up the hallway, where he'd gone to retrieve his cufflinks. "Jarvis, time?"

"You should schedule your departure within the next ten minutes," the computerized butler said.

"Whoa, cool," Evie looked around for the source of the voice. "I need one of those for when it's quiet at the café, right now I'm always talking to the betta fish."

"What's his name again?" Steve chuckled.

"Jeff."

"Hook me up with some espresso and you can chat up my AI whenever you want," Tony laughed.

"Deal."

"All right, let's get ready to roll out," Nat said, and everyone got into groups for the limo ride over.

* * *

 **Attache ta tuque:** Literally, attach your tuque. Hold on to your hat. Good advice, really.


	3. Chapter 3

Evie stood on the balcony, looking out over the city bathed in the gloaming, a champagne flute in her hand. The sun was rapidly descending, and the city lights shimmered in the August heat.

"There you are," Steve came up behind her, laying a hand on her arm. "I've been looking for you."

She gave him a smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Something wrong?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I've just got this feeling I can't shake. That something is about to happen and it won't be good."

"Any idea what it might be?" Steve leaned against the railing, facing her.

"Dunno. I'll be fine. Moment of melancholy, I guess," she sighed. "We should go back inside. People have come here to schmooze with you guys."

"I've had it about up to here with schmoozing," Steve grumbled. "Even Tony hates this stuff. I'm not any good at it."

"Yeah, you're better at the pep talks and the giving orders and stuff, right, Captain?" she teased.

"I'll show you 'Captain'," he said. She clapped a hand over her mouth, biting back a guffaw.

" _Steve_ ," she said, giggling. He realized what he'd just said, and went red around the ears.

"Your mind, I swear…"

"I know, I know. 'We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars'," she quipped.

"Who said that?"

"Oscar Wilde. Not that you can see the stars from this city, too much light pollution."

"Ah. Come on, let's get out of here. Go get some food or something."

"I could go for something to eat," she smiled at him. "These hors d'oeuvres are…"

"Dog food?"

"I was going to say 'not appetizing', but 'dog food' works. I'm gonna tell Tony he needs to get a better caterer."

* * *

They were sitting in their fancy clothes in the café, on the slightly-dusty old couch. Evie had managed to rustle up some reheated leftover lasagna, which they shared out of a Tupperware container over the coffee table.

"I don't know what you do to this," Steve said, shoveling another forkful into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Nonna's spice blend," she explained. "Trade secret. It's classified."

"Speaking of classified…" he segued, grimacing. "I've got a mission. I'll be incommunicado for at least three days. I'm going with Nat on a mission."

"Okay," she shrugged, taking a bite of lasagna. He stared at her. "What?"

"I thought you might be… well, more upset."

"What, that you're leaving?" she threw up her hands. "It's your job. I knew about this signing up. Does it mean I won't worry? Fuck, I'll probably live on espresso and not sleep, lying in bed with one of your shirts because it still smells like you. Is that what you want to hear? It scares me shitless, Slick, but it's happening whether I want it to or not. Eventually, you're going to go away somewhere, probably get hurt, and there's gonna be nothing I can do about it. But screaming and crying, throwing a tantrum about it? That'll just make it worse on both of us."

"That's… well, more understanding than I expected. I have a calling, and it's really, really important that you respect that. I really feel better now."

"Ce n'est pas toujours souhaitable d'être celui à qui Dieu parle – it's not always desirable to be the one to whom God speaks," she smiled at him, taking his hand. "I have a small life, destined for small things, and that's how I like it. How you live your life is up to you. If we can fit together while we both do our own thing, well, that's better than being alone, isn't it? Toi pis moi, on va ben ensemble. You and me, we go good together."

"You're a lot more level-headed than most people."

"It's the blue hair. Makes me look crazy. But if I wear my crazy on my head, it means it doesn't settle in my heart."

He kissed her.

* * *

Steve couldn't do much on the iPhone he'd been given by Tony, but he understood how to use the timer, calculator, and phone. Now he was tackling texting and emails. Furrowing his brow, he set about trying to type on the little keyboard with one finger.

* * *

Evie's phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up. Email.

 _Dear Evie,_

 _Just wanted to let you know that everything went smoothly. No serious injuries for anyone, just a couple of bruises. I'll be home today._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Steve_

She giggled. He still had a habit of writing emails like he would letters, which was adorable. Glancing around her empty shop – the morning rush was over – she flopped down on the couch.

 _Hey_

 _Glad to hear it. You wanna come for dinner? I'll make something special. :)_

Fifteen minutes passed, and her phone buzzed again.

 _Dear Evie,_

 _I'll be back around noon, if all goes well, then debriefing. What time for dinner? And how did you make that little face?_

 _XOXO_

 _Steve_

She kicked her shoes off and lay on her feet, her knees bent over the armrest of the couch. She flipped through the pictures she'd taken last night – she'd even set up her camera on a tripod, and fixed her hair into a pin-up, 1940's style. Dressed in a short, lacy nightie, she imitated Rita Hayworth's famous bedroom photo. She attached one to the email.

 _I'll show you later. And also this._

* * *

Steve's eyes went wide as he opened the picture attachment to the email, and he let out a breath of surprise. In black and white was his gorgeous girlfriend, posed on her bed in a way that was enticing but not pornographic. He shifted in his seat at the table in the hotel suite he was sharing with Nat. Two beds, obviously.

"Whatcha got there?" Nat said, coming up behind him and peering over his shoulder. He slammed the phone down on the table, but Nat had already seen. "Ooh, is that Evie? Sexy!" She let out a wolf whistle.

"It's none of your business," his cheeks flushed hotly. Scarlet laughed.

"No, it isn't, but you two are adorable together, and sending each other sexy pictures is kind of part and parcel nowadays. Did you send her one back?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're ripped like a raggy old t-shirt, stupid. Come on, take your shirt off. I'll take the picture. Get her blood pumping, too."

"I'm not doing that," he crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. He was never going to get used to being objectified. "Why would she want a shirtless picture of me?"

"Oh, Steve, you think girls don't get horny? Trust me, she'll love it."

"All right, if you're sure…" Steve reached behind himself and tugged the t-shirt over his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Nat reached over and undid his pants.

"Hey! Hands off!" he swatted at her.

"No, let me style this. It's not often I get to play photographer. Trust me!"

He sighed, but let her pose him against the wall by the closed curtains on the sliding door to the balcony, arranging it so the sunlight fell across him and defined his muscles. His pants were undone, the hem of his boxer-briefs barely visible. She tugged his jeans down his hips so there was a hint of the fuzz that trailed from his navel down to his groin. His hip bones – which Evie described as 'rock star hips' – stuck out as he arched his back, and she posed one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head.

She snapped a bunch of shots, firing instructions at him. Pout here, move your hand there. Cackling maniacally, she quickly wrote an email as he put his shirt back on, then gave his phone back to him.

"There you go," she "I've sent it, because you'd chicken out."

Nat's own phone buzzed, as she was alone in the bathroom, putting on lipstick.

 _You are my new best friend and I love you._ – the email read. She threw her head back and laughed.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm having a lot of fun writing this one. Feedback is appreciated and always makes me scribble faster! Love!**


	4. Chapter 4

Steve pressed the button on the door buzzer, glancing quickly at his watch.

"What's the password?" a tinny, laughing voice came through the speaker.

"Um," Steve responded. "Blue?"

"Eh, not quite, but good enough," the buzzer sounded, and he opened the door. He jogged up the steps, two at a time, to find a note on the door. _Come in, I'm on the balcony_ , read a sign scrawled on the door.

He crossed through her living room to the patio door in the kitchen. Evie was standing outside in a denim peasant skirt and a white lace tank top, holding a bottle of beer against her forehead, enjoying the feeling of the cool condensation on her heated skin. She had a pair of barbecue tongs in her other hand, and she snapped them at him playfully as he slid the door open. She placed the beer down on the little bistro table, and reached her arms up around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

"Miss me?" she asked, pulling back and playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Always," he replied. "Whatcha making?"

"You'll find out," she teased. "Go get a beer out of the fridge."

"You know I can't get drunk, right?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter, this is about taste. Trust me."

Steve went back into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was a six-pack of beer, one of them already missing. He pulled out a bottle and turned it over in his hand, reading the label: _St. Ambroise -_ then shrugged and grabbed the bottle opener from the counter, opening the beer with a solid _hsst._ He sniffed it tentatively. The interwoven malt and hops filled his senses, and he took a sip, walking back out to the balcony, where Evie was serving dinner on two plates.

A solid rib-eye steak is what she placed before him, with some roasted potatoes and mixed grilled vegetables – zucchini, red peppers, mushrooms. His mouth watered looking at it.

"A guy could get used to this," he told her, as she sat down across from him.

"I felt like a Montreal summer meal. It feels like Montreal summer weather today," she explained, picking up the Worcestershire sauce on the table and applying it liberally to her own steak. "Hot and humid and kind of sticky."

Steve cut into his steak – perfectly medium rare, the mixture of spices enhancing the taste of the meat. He chewed contemplatively, his eyes shut.

"Good, eh?"

"You are going to be the death of me," Steve told her, spearing a roasted potato, rubbed with herbs and garlic, golden-brown and crisp. "Death by food."

"That's my goal in life," she joked. "Fatten you up so you can't leave my couch. Wait until dessert."

"You're evil," he laughed.

"And you love this," she ran her foot along his calf under the table, smiling at him as he sipped the beer – cold and crisp and perfectly complimentary.

"I love you," he quipped back. There was a pregnant pause, and Steve's heart beat in his ears. Where on Earth had _that_ come from?

He finally met her eyes, his face burning red hot. Her eyes were dancing in amusement, the gold and green colors of her irises intermingling like a cat's, and she chuckled, laugh lines appearing around her eyes.

"I love you too, Slick," she took his hand. The tension that had suddenly appeared in his shoulders dissipated, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

* * *

She had him pinned against the counter, eyes shut. She placed something onto his tongue – sweet, creamy, a slight hint of maple – and he sighed in contentment as it melted there.

"Okay, what is that?" he murmured.

"Sucre à la crème à l'érable," she whispered, right next to his ear. He sighed.

"You know what it does to me when you speak French."

"Maple cream fudge," she translated, nibbling his ear and slipping another small bite between his lips. "Et bien, veux-tu que j'parle français entre tes jambes?"

"What does that one mean?"

"Do you want me to speak French between your legs?"

 _Yes._

* * *

It never occurred to him, really, that sex was something that happened on the vertical as well as the horizontal. But here he was, having discovered that she wasn't wearing any underwear under her skirt, her shirt thrown across the kitchen, thrusting into her hot, willing flesh. She was panting into his shoulder, her moans and cries driving him harder, faster, deeper, so much it was like he was trying to crawl inside of her completely.

The cry she let out, followed by a whimper as her body seized in one giant shudder and she clenched around his cock, spasming, sent him careening over the edge after her, his shout muffled by her shoulder, which he nipped into as he came.

* * *

When Steve received no word from her over the weekend, he began to worry. He went to her apartment, and there was no answer, so he headed for the coffee shop.

"Yeah, it's really weird, I mean, I'm usually scheduled for the weekend, but she always checks in," Anna told him, handing him a coffee. "She tells me if she's going somewhere."

As he left the café, he immediately called Nat.

"I need you," he murmured. "Evie's gone. Something's not right."

"I'll be right there."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This plot is gonna run a bit concurrently to _Winter Soldier_ , and intertwine with the films as they stand now.**

* * *

 **The Dark Choir**

 _Perched on a nest_

 _they robbed from a raptor,_

 _they dangle over their young_

 _shreds of red carrion_

 _locked in the vices_

 _of three-inch beaks_

 _their ravenous young_

 _thrusting their gaping_

 _beaks skyward_

 _like the mouths of a dark choir_

 _belting out the notes_

 _of survival._

* * *

It was not comfortable in the trunk of the car. It was hot and suffocating, not that the duct tape that covered her mouth helped. She was hog-tied; there was no way she could search for a lever that opened the trunk, or try to kick out one of the headlights – she was well and truly fucked six ways from Sunday.

The men who had kidnapped her didn't speak to her, they nattered to themselves in something that sounded like Russian. She'd let out a blue streak of Joual curse words at them, before they'd gagged her. She had no idea what the fuck was happening, but she was not happy.

She was thirsty, so thirsty. They'd grabbed her as she rollerblading through Central Park in the early morning light, headed for work, wrapped up in her own little world. _Dans la lune_. She hadn't been paying much attention. Not that it really would have helped – there were three of them, and only one of her. And they had guns.

* * *

Steve leapt out of the plane, plummeting to earth. His mind was racing, and he tried to still the thoughts of Evie being tortured, Evie being hurt in any way… because of him. Just the idea of that sickened him, as he prepared himself to land.

He would get her back. These pirates had already contacted SHIELD, demanding a high ransom. They must have her.

* * *

They pulled her out of the trunk by her hair. She gritted her teeth, refusing to scream, as they shoved her through a door into a very grungy looking warehouse.

There were tanks lined up along one wall, glass-fronted but empty. There were also stretchers, dirty, some covered in blood. It looked like a combination back-alley abortion clinic and torture chamber. She couldn't stop the shiver that ran up her spine.

A man stepped out, grinning at her creepily. He had a shaved head, and was wearing a lab coat.

She'd bet money he wasn't a doctor.

* * *

Steve's heart sank into the pit of his stomach when he realized that she wasn't among the hostages. He'd lashed out at Nat, annoyed about her following orders that weren't his. He felt like a jackass, but he was worried sick.

"Look, we'll find her, okay?" she'd told him, gently laying her hand on his arm. "I'm worried, too."

"Thanks, Nat," he replied quietly. "I'm sorry for snapping earlier."

"It's understandable, Steve. You're worried sick. But we can't let it compromise us. We'll have a job to do. We take care of our own. Nick's on it. If she's to be found, he'll be the one to find her."

* * *

The man didn't speak as they wrenched her out of her clothes, shoving her into a cold shower. Finally she allowed herself to cry, as the water beat down on her face, giving her a headache. An orderly was scrubbing her skin until it was raw with a rough sponge covered in some kind of antibacterial soap. The creepy man threw her a towel and a hospital gown, gesturing with a gun in his other hand, indicating that she should dress.

"What is happening?" she asked, trying to breathe evenly, to silence the pounding of her heart in her ears.

The man pushed her onto one of the stretchers, strapping her down to it with leather restraints. Then he jammed an IV into her arm, and started to fill a syringe with some strange, swampy green liquid. He jammed it into the IV, and the substance burned her veins with an intensity she'd never felt. She wanted to vomit, but settled for biting her tongue until it bled, her chest heaving.

The world went black in what looked like a flurry of feathers.

* * *

Steve paced the room up and down, as Nick Fury was making calls in the office beside. So far there had been no ransom demands; radio silence. He didn't know what was going on, but he was agitated. Nat had long since tried distracting him, even offering to spar with him to take his mind off of what was going on. It was no use.

He didn't like feeling helpless. It brought him back to his adolescence, getting pounded into the pavement by bullies for no reason apart from him being small and easily overpowered.

Nick stepped out of the office, his face grim.

"Well?" Steve asked impatiently.

"I'm not entirely sure. They've hacked into cameras across the city. We've found her abduction, we had a video feed, but it's impossible to tell who they are. The car they took her in, no plates, no identifying marks, just black. We caught it going towards Staten Island, but then we lose it."

"Shit," Steve muttered. "Now what?"

"I'm getting eyes all around there, looking for her. We'll find her, Steve. Suit up. You're going in as soon as I get a handle on her location."

* * *

The crow perched on the stone angel, staring down at the girl, curled in a fetal position before him. He tilted his head to the left, then the right. Her eyelids fluttered, though only the whites showed, and she groaned.

The crow took flight, calling out to its companions - a mournful, hollow sound.


	6. Chapter 6

_The eyes are not here_

 _There are no eyes here_

 _In this valley of dying stars_

 _In this hollow valley_

 _This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms_

* * *

Drip. Drip. Drip drip drip.

Water ran, somewhere near her head, making a sound that echoed through her consciousness like a jackhammer. She shuddered, and her stomach rolled, the metallic copper tang on blood on her tongue. She gagged.

She tried cracking her eyes open – they felt glued shut, crusted over, tears running down her cheeks, and they stung like they'd been sprayed with lemon juice. She saw nothing but darkness, and it hurt. She shut her eyes again and fought not to vomit. Instead, she started taking an inventory.

Every single nerve ending in her body burned as if someone had pressed a hot poker to it. She could wiggle her toes, though they were somewhat numbed, and seemed to have all of her fingers. Her lungs burned as she drew in a shuddering breath, and even her hair hurt. She tried to open her eyes again, but saw nothing. She reached out her hands, tried to feel what was around her. She was encased – probably in one of those tanks she saw before. She slammed her hands on it, and tried to scream. Her voice was raw, her vocal cords felt like they'd been rubbed with sandpaper.

In the darkness, all she could do was wait.

* * *

Fury's voice came crackling over the radio, barking coordinates.

"Go get her," he said.

He didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

She heard the sounds of glass breaking, of a metal door being kicked open. Steve swept the room, looking for guards – but as Nick had said, the building was now empty. SHIELD agents swarmed in after him, declaring the room clear.

"Evie?" Steve's voice echoed in the empty building. It was dim, dusty, terrifying, really. Like an abandoned mental hospital, with incomprehensible graffiti scrawled on the walls.

"Steve," he heard a hoarse, rasping voice, the desperation palpable. "Steve!" She pounded on the glass.

She was in a glass tank, filled with fog. Her hand pressed against the clouded glass, trembling. He tried to find a latch, to no avail.

"I have to smash the glass," he said, picking up his shield. "Close your eyes."

He bashed on it, shattering the glass, which he then pulled out of the tank by handfuls.

When the fog cleared, he stared at Evie in horror.

And then doubled over and vomited on the floor.

"Oh God," Evie cried. "What's the matter? I can't see. Why can't I see?"

"Your eyes," Steve gasped. "I'm sorry. Just… they've done something to your eyes."

There were streaks of blood running down her bruised cheeks, dark, sinister looking blood. All that was left, where her hazel eyes once were, were empty, black sockets.

"I need EMTs!" Steve called into his radio. "I need EMTs immediately."

* * *

Evie sat, clutching a tissue in her hand, sobbing hysterically, as Steve sat beside her on the bed, rubbing her back. Her vision was gone, probably forever – Nick had told her he'd put his science team on it. Maybe there was something they could do for her. The medical staff were rushing around the room, running tests, drawing blood. They rushed her into surgery, removing what was left of the damaged orbs.

Steve broke down as soon as they took her away. He sat in the empty hospital room, heaving sobs into his hands, emotions whirling within him. Why did everyone he ever loved have to get hurt?

Nat had showed up, with a cup of coffee for him, and sat in the chair beside the bed, patting his knee. She didn't say anything, as he sucked in a breath and wiped his eyes, until he calmed.

"She's tough," Nat told him. "And SHIELD will help her. I was just talking to Tony. He has an idea."

"He does?"

"Yeah," Nat nodded. "He thinks there might be a way to essentially make her bionic eyes – he says sight comes from electrical impulses in the brain. He's working on it." She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Steve."

"Why do I always seem to generate collateral damage?"

"She knew what she was getting into," Nat said. Clint knocked on the door frame then, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hey," he said. "Came along to offer some moral support."

"Thanks," Steve sighed, his eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks ruddy. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess."

"Dude, we've all been there," Clint told him. "Don't be sorry. You care about her and some asshole has gone and fucked that up. We're gonna get her fixed up. Tony's already on it – and once he gets a bug in his ear, he'll make some magic. Harder, better, faster, stronger. The doctors will find out what happened. In the meantime," he steepled his hands in front of him. "Our job is to find out who the bastard is who did this, and have him pushing up daisies. Did she tell you anything?"

"She said he had a shaved head. He didn't say anything. Fairly tall, strong jawline – just a physical description. He injected her with something and everything went dark."

"God, who knows what the hell that was," Clint ran his hand through his hair. "Did SHIELD find anything at the site?"

"Don't know," Steve shrugged. "If they did, they'll be analyzing it."

* * *

Warmth. The sound of gentle snoring roused Evie. Her eyes were covered in gauze, her face puffy. She felt groggy.

Groping in her eternal darkness, she found Steve's head, lying on the bed, and ran her hand through his hair. He shifted, but continued to snore softly.

"Hey, you're awake," Nat's voice came quietly. "Steve's zonked, I don't think he's slept in days. Hasn't left your side, except when they took you for surgery. Feel like going for a walk?"

Evie tested out her bruised limbs, and nodded. Clumsily, she swung so she was sitting on the side of the bed. Nat knelt.

"I'm gonna put some slippers on for you, OK?"

"Yeah," Evie rasped. She felt Nat's strong arms steadying her as she stood. Nat took one arm, and directed her right hand to the IV pole.

They shuffled off down the hallway.

They sat by the vending machines, after Nat checked with the doctor whether or not Evie could have anything. She sat sipping a Diet Coke through a straw, while Nat munched a Kit Kat. The hall was empty. It was late at night.

Evie let out a shaky breath. "Did they tell you anything?"

"Not yet," Nat admitted. "I think they're going to wait until the morning, come talk to you then. But Tony's already cooking something up."

"What do you mean?"

"He's going to find a way to give you some vision," Nat smiled, biting into her chocolate bar.

"Do you think he can actually do that?"

"Well, he basically can take duct tape and popsicle sticks and make a robot, so if anyone can figure something out, it's him."

"This sucks," Evie rubbed her temple. "Aw, fuck, the café…"

"Taken care of. Clint got on that right away. You're covered. You have some awesome part-timers."

"I'm selective," Evie smiled slightly around her bruised lip. "So, on a scale of one to horrible, how much do I look like I've been worked over with a tire iron?"

"Eight and a half."

"Ouch," she chuckled. Nat nudged her shoulder.

"You're a tough chick," she told her. "I think, though, once you're feeling better, I'm gonna teach you how to fight."

"I don't want to fight," Evie sighed. "I want to be… me. Making espressos. Being nobody. I'm good at nobody."

"You might have handed in your nobody card when you started paying court to the Cap," Nat said gently. "I know you didn't ask for this – and Steve feels so guilty that this has happened – but it's a hazard of being with an Avenger. It means risk… but it also means that you have us on your side."

"Yeah," Evie yawned.

"Come on, let's get you back to your room."

She left Evie and Steve both snoozing, Evie's hand covering his, and smiled as she left. They'd be OK.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony puttered around in his workshop, barking orders at Jarvis and leaving a mess of rejected prototypes. He didn't know why he was so driven to do this – perhaps because of Pepper, and the girl-power sisterhood she seemed to have formed with both Nat and Evie. But perhaps on the girl's own account. It certainly wasn't on Steve's. Something about that guy always rubbed him the wrong way. He was too… nice wasn't the word he wanted to use. Good, maybe. He made Tony feel crappy.

He squinted at the glass item in his hand, using a pair of tweezers to implant a microchip. He'd been working on this for three days, barely stopping to nap on the couch.

* * *

The tension in the room was tangible, as everyone waited for the surgery to finish. Tony was drinking cheap machine coffee, Pepper was wringing her hands in her lap, and Steve was pacing the floor. Clint and Nat had gone on a snack run, and they returned from the corner bodega with bags of chips and some Twizzlers. Even Bruce had called to check in.

Nat started up a round of two truths and a lie, which entertained them while the time ticked by. Eventually they started playing cards, sitting around a table in the lounge.

The SHIELD neurosurgeon, still dressed in his green scrubs and blue shoe covers, finally appeared.

"Everything went really well," he told the group, who let out a collective sigh of relief. "She's in recovery now, she won't wake up for another hour or so, but once we move her to her room, you can see her. We didn't need to open up her entire head, so her recovery is going to be quick. We'll try configuring the chip tomorrow, if Mr. Stark can lend us his assistance."

"Of course," Tony nodded.

* * *

Evie opened her eyes, seeing nothing once again. She yawned groggily.

"Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," Steve said gently, touching her hand. "They implanted Tony's device. Tomorrow they'll turn it on."

"Oh," she murmured, turning on her side. "Ow."

"I know it hurts," Steve murmured, caressing her arm. "But this should fix your vision."

"Is that why it's so dark in here?" she moaned, confused, then reached out, feeling her way up Steve's arms. "You have nice muscles, guy."

From across the room, there was a barely-contained peal of laughter from Nat.

"God bless anaesthetics, I should be filming this, she won't remember in the morning."

"Don't you dare," Steve growled protectively.

"I won't, I won't," she put up her hands.

"Who's the lady? She sounds pretty. Is she your girrrrrlfriend?" Evie slurred.

Steve bit back his own strangled laugh. "No, that's Nat."

"Ohh," she lay back on the pillow, her head wrapped in a bandage. They'd shaved the left side of her head. "I'm so tired."

"Go to sleep," Steve told her, gently. "We can talk more later."

* * *

The next morning, Nat recounted Evie's adventures in anesthesia while they ate breakfast. She'd picked up McDonald's on her way in, and Evie had ditched the pathetic-looking tray of hospital scrambled eggs in favor of a bacon McMuffin and a hash brown.

The neurosurgeon walked in, a folder in his hand.

"Once you're finished your breakfast, we're going to get started. Tony is downstairs setting up."

"Okay," Evie said excitedly. "Thank you so much."

"Take care, I'll see you soon."

They finished eating, Evie practically bouncing in her seat. They threw out the packaging, and then Steve helped Evie into her shoes, and she grabbed onto both him and her IV pole to lead her out into the hallway.

Downstairs, Tony had set up an interesting-looking machine. The surgeon, along with a doctor, who introduced himself as an ophthalmologist – and who was super excited about getting to test drive a Tony Stark device that could change lives – were ready for them.

"All right, hop on up here and lie back. We're going to insert the artificial eyes. These have been designed to be worn at all times, but just so you know – they do look different from your own."

"I don't care, as long as they work," Evie said, lying back on the table. The ophthalmologist leaned over her face, removing her sunglasses.

"Okay, left side first. I just want to inspect the socket." Once he'd done so, he'd inserted the left eye piece, and then did the same with the right side. "All right. Just need to attach the transmitter. It really does look like a cochlear implant, Tony. How fascinating." On the shaved side of her head, an electromagnet attached itself behind her ear. There was also a pair of glasses – large silver frames, feminine and light, but that contained screens to help her visual cortex to decipher the signals.

"All right, we're going on in three, two, one…" Tony said, reaching over to flick the switch on the transmitter.

Evie had to bite back a scream, and promptly passed out.

* * *

"What do you see, Evie?" Steve asked, as she came to.

"Everything," she whispered, her mouth dry. "It's like… visual overload. I can see, but it's very different."

"You can switch the imaging to just thermal, or ultraviolet, a number of different things," Tony told her. "It'll take a while for you to get used to everything stacked on top of each other. Just ask Jarvis to change it."

"Jarvis?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am?" came the voice, seemingly in her head.

"You installed Jarvis in my brain?"

"No, well, a version of him, anyway," Tony shrugged. "I thought it'd be helpful to be able to analyze situations like the Iron Man suit does. He's much more toned down, and he'll be entirely dormant unless you activate him. If he gets too naggy tell him to shut down."

"Whoa," Evie grinned. "All right. Jarvis, can we edit this down to just infrared?"

The images in front of her shifted, so she saw heat signatures and nothing else.

"Oh, Tony, this is way cool."

"You'll never see exactly the way a normal human being would, some things are always going to be distorted, but you'll have an easier time with this. I recommend you use it for a few hours a day at first, then shut it off by switching off the transmitter. You'll end up with one hell of a migraine if you do too much too fast."

"Got it," Evie swung her legs over the side of the table, and hopped down. "Hey, your arc reactor glows really cool in the infrared!" She threw her arms around him and hugged him.

"Well, my job here is done," he patted her on the shoulder. "I need to be getting back."

"We'll practice a bit with things like depth perception, and I'll give you some daily exercises to do," the ophthalmologist told her. "Then you can go home."

She hadn't even realized she'd been crying, until she tasted the tears.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I'm well aware of the fact that most of The Winter Soldier takes place in DC. For simplicity's sake, we're in New York.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Evie worked diligently on trying to get herself to the point where she could activate her vision for most of the day, with a little break around lunch time. She'd started to work in the cafe again. Some people had asked what was going on with her crazy new haircut and the strange equipment. She'd explained that she'd been in a car accident, and had lost her vision, but her friend Tony Stark had restored it.

Speaking of Tony Stark, she delivered coffee to the Avengers tower every single morning. She'd started to think even of Jarvis as a friend - her Jarvis and Tony's Jarvis weren't the same, but they were close enough. She'd nicknamed hers Chou - a French pet name, which she'd discovered he understood - and had taken to calling him that.

"Should I be jealous that you call the artificial intelligence a pet name, but not me?" Steve teased her.

"Mon coeur," she cooed at him. "I call you Slick all the time, it's a much better nickname."

"Why, what does Chou mean?"

"Cabbage."

Steve threw his head back and laughed. Evie kissed him.

"I've got to run home tonight," he told her.

"That's all right. I might go out with some friends," she smiled. "Have a nice little man night on your own."

That was the day SHIELD was compromised.

It set off a chain reaction of events. He shot Evie a text message, and then went on the run with Nat.

At Tony's insistence, she'd moved into the Avengers tower for safety. He even walked her to the coffee shop every morning, for which he'd receive free coffee and one of her melt-in-the-mouth biscotti. He'd opted to stay out of the madness with SHIELD, not that Evie could blame him. He'd given her a whole suite of rooms, a living room, bedroom and bathroom. There was a lounge and kitchen on the floor below. He sent a car to pick her up in the evenings, which is usually when he was working. He was definitely a night hawk.

That evening, Evie received a text from Steve - _going dark_ \- and she met Tony in the lounge.

"Won't be hearing from Steve or Nat for a bit," she told him.

"Drink?"

"Whiskey. Straight," she told him.

"God, you're too good for that man, you drink whiskey?" he teased.

"I'm Canadian, I drink everything," she laughed back. "Got anything good?"

"Life's too short for cheap whiskey. How do you feel about 50 year Glenfiddich?"

"Oh, man, really? That's not cheap whiskey, that's top-shelf scotch."

He was already uncorking the bottle, and poured a glass for each of them.

"Slainte," she said, raising the glass. She took a sip. It was oaky and smooth and slid down her throat like butter in a hot pan. "Oh god. I'll marry you for your whiskey."

"Hey, I just like having someone to share it with. Pepper's more of a gin girl," Tony grinned. "How you holding up?"

"I'll be happy to know Steve's safe," she said. "I've been having weird dreams lately. Premonitions. Something is about to happen."

"Wanna talk about it?"

She took another sip of the scotch, feeling her cheeks flush.

"I keep seeing a man in a mask, with a metal arm. Steve knows him. But I don't know how or why. I just get this overwhelming feeling of fear and sadness," she told him. "He has to stop him."

"You should get started on some self-defence training," Tony told her. "You never know when something is gonna hit. And now you have some superior vision."

"Nat was supposed to teach me, but I've been working so hard on figuring out the whole eyesight thing, we haven't had time."

"Well, I can teach you a little. Can you fire a gun?"

"I used to have a BB gun, I got pretty good at knocking tin cans off the fence," she told him. "But real weapons, no."

"You know what, why don't I put you in one of the extra suits? I've been trying to configure some to be more female-friendly. I wanted one to work for Pepper. Just in case."

"Okay."

They headed down into the basement, where Tony had built a blast-resistant sparring room. He called up a panel and began tapping away at it, then extended his arms - the suit came slamming onto him, but he kept the visor off.

"All right, so I've just configured Jarvis to recognize your version, as well," he told her. "Just ask him for a little help, and he'll activate the suits."

"Okay. Mon chou, j'ai besoin d'aide," she said. Immediately, a suit of armour slapped around her, making her stagger. She stood up and looked at Tony, then removed the glasses.

"You talk to him in French? Man, smart."

"He talks back to me in English. He can speak French, but man, it's super British sounding."

"What did you call him, anyway?"

"It's a pet name. Means 'cabbage'. Mon chou."

"Hah, that's cute. How come I don't have a pet name yet?"

"Sure you want one? I could give you something ridiculous like pantoufles."

"What does that mean?"

"Slippers. It's just a funny sounding word, so I like it."

"Pepper would never let me hear the end of it. Let's stick to Iron Man."

"Deal," she laughed. "Okay, now what?"

"Well, these ones are configured with an autopilot, which is ideal to get to safety, and also automatically firing weapons. It can be overridden to the manual mode. How do you feel about trying to fly?"

"I'm not scared of heights," she told him. "But the splat on the pavement at the bottom doesn't sound like much fun."

"Well, we're only hovering a couple of feet off the ground. Ceiling down here is only twenty feet up. You won't die from that fall, not in the suit."

He tapped a few buttons on the panel, and some heavy metal pumped through.

"So, let's dance."

* * *

Within the next hour, she'd learned how to control the suit enough to hover, a little shakily, and also fire beams of energy from her hand. She wasn't a great shot, but it was a good start.

"I don't know how Steve is gonna feel about this," she said, wiping sweat off of her brow.

"It's not like you're joining the Avengers," Tony shrugged, pouring them each another scotch. "It's just a protective measure. I've been training Pepper, too. If shit goes sideways, he'll want you to be safe. So I'm gonna get you your own suit, like Pepper's."

"Thanks, Tony," she smiled at him. "You've been a real good friend."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony grinned at her. "I don't like too many people, so I tend to want to look after the ones I do."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I live for reviews! I'm trying to post as fast as I write this, I have it rough-sketched all the way to the end, so I plan on sharing, but motivation helps! Drop me a note!**

* * *

Steve ended up in the hospital himself. When Evie showed up, a black man was sitting next to his bed, reading a magazine.

"Oh, you must be Evie," he stood up, and held out his hand. "Sam Wilson."

"How is he?"

"He's been in and out, but he already was cracking jokes, so that's good."

She bent over him, brushing his hair from his forehead, and gently kissed his lips. His eyelids fluttered open, and he immediately reached for her.

"I'm gonna go get a coffee…" Sam said, leaving his magazine on the table.

He was quiet, sullen almost – she could tell something was wrong.

Almost as soon as the door closed, she sat on the bed and took him in her arms. He was silent for a moment, then his arms came around her, and he let out a muffled sob. She pulled back to look at him, and there were tears in his eyes. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and just cried.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked, handing him a tissue. Her eyes were such a strange shade of blue now, the pupils permanently pinpoints, but they held steady to his. She took off the glasses, and reached for his hand.

"Bucky," he started. "Bucky's alive."

"Wait, hold up, how?"

"They've experimented on him. The Soviets. He's called the Winter Soldier. They've brainwashed him or something, he didn't recognize me," Steve explained. "I think maybe somehow he did, but I couldn't get through to him. Oh my god, Bucky. I still can't believe it was him."

"What did he look like?" she asked hesitantly.

"He has a metal arm, long, scraggly hair. I didn't recognize him at first. He was wearing a mask. Why?"

"Oh my god," she sucked in a breath. "I had a dream about him. That you were going to meet this guy, and that you knew who he was. I felt, I think, what you felt when you saw him. How weird is that?"

"Have you ever had dreams like that before?"

"Like, premonitions? No."

"Hmm. I'm wondering if it has something to do with whatever garbage they injected you with. I'll talk to Fury about it. Maybe they have some test results back."

She hugged him again. "We'll figure this out."

"SHIELD was compromised. We took it down, and now we're working on building it back. Fury showed up at my apartment. There was poison in it," he sighed. "Oh, I saw Peggy, too."

"How is she?"

"Confused. She knows me, but she's slipping farther and farther into the fog, dementia, but they call it something else now."

"Alzheimer's?" Evie supplied.

"Yeah, that," Steve sighed. "I didn't expect for anyone I knew to still be alive. But apparently everyone I cared about is, just none of them really recognize me."

She kissed his forehead.

"You're building a new home, here, now, with me," she said softly. "We will have room in it for your ghosts, too."

Steve smiled at her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. They sat that way while she filled him in on what she'd been up to with Tony.

"He's built a bunch of extra suits – protection, he calls it. Pepper has one. Basically it has automatic protocols built into it, so it'll just protect someone and bring them to safety. He's taught me a little bit how to work it, and wants to build me one of my own. I said I wanted to talk to you first."

"Well," Steve scratched his temple. "I can't say I'd be thrilled by the idea of you flying around with the Avengers, but as a protective measure, it's not a bad idea."

"Hah, I had you pegged right away. I knew that's what you'd say," she smiled. "I have no intention of fighting if I don't have to. But one round in the torture chamber was enough to show me that if I want to stay on this carousel – and I do – that I need to learn how to hold my ground. Tony's gonna integrate my new visual capabilities into it, so I don't need to wear the glasses."

"You should do some hand to hand with Nat. She's really good at it."

"Yeah, now that you're back, I'll text her and set something up."

* * *

Which is how she came to be spending Tuesday evening in the Avengers tower, getting the stuffing kicked out of her by the Black Widow.

"Fuck, you're good," Evie said. "I can't keep up physically."

"You should also learn to integrate your visual capabilities, especially using the AI. You can analyze combat patterns and find a weakness to exploit."

"Good idea," Evie took a sip from her Gatorade bottle. "Another round?"

"Bring it on."

Steve watched through the bulletproof glass as Nat and Evie sparred, still battered and bruised himself. Evie was no match for the dedicated, experienced Nat, but she got a few good shots in. She seemed to have a way of using her shoulders and hips to push Nat around, pitching her into the wall on one occasion.

They emerged from the room laughing, and then high-fived as Nat took her leave. Evie hooked her arm through Steve's, and they headed towards the door. A hot shower awaited her at her apartment.

"Well, you know how to throw your weight around, so that's a start. Where'd you learn that?"

"Hockey," Evie shrugged. "I'm tall and broad shouldered, and I'm a shit shot, so my job was Goon Squad. Played defense, mostly spent my time checking people into the boards and getting the puck off of them. I'm out of practice, I only play beer league now, but I was on my high school and college teams. I'm pretty out of shape, but I can get back into it."

"I'd run with you in the mornings, but, well, you know," Steve's hair flopped forward into his eyes as they walked up the street. "Actually, you could probably run with Sam."

"That'd be fun," she grinned. "I should get back up on skates. We broke for the summer and I've been lazy, and I haven't skated since before… well, the eye thing. I think there's free skate, or pickup game, today, actually. Why don't you come watch?"

"I'd like that."

* * *

Steve sat in the stands of the small arena, a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm, mediocre hot chocolate cradled in his hands, watching as she skated out onto the ice. There were two sessions of free time – one thirty-minute free skate, then a game. She told him she'd warm up in free skate, and if she felt up to it, play some hockey.

She could skate, really skate, one foot crossing over the other as she whipped around in laps. She was dressed in her gear, minus gloves, stick and helmet, and a Montreal Canadians jersey, her name and the number 17 on the back. She started skating backwards, looping back around where the nets would be placed, her bright blue hair whipping around, matching the blue of the jersey. She started sprinting from one end of the rink to the other, sending up a spray of ice as she stopped. She wasn't the fastest on her team by a long shot, but she was good at keeping her balance.

After about a half an hour, a group of teenage boys showed up, tumbling onto the ice in a gaggle of equipment. Steve watched as she skated over to them, and took her helmet from the bench.

They played a quick pickup game of hockey – and she was pretty good. Holding her own against the young whippersnappers, anyway, and he winced as she checked one of them into the boards and took possession of the puck, skating down to the point and firing it towards the net, where the goalie had to scramble to catch it. Her long blue hair flowed out from behind her helmet, and when she stepped off the ice, she was sweating, but also glowing with excitement.

"That was fun," she breathed, chugging some Gatorade. "I'm gonna hit the shower and get changed, then we can go home, okay?"

Steve waited for her in the arena hallway, and she emerged with her bag, which he tried to take off of her.

"No way are you carrying my sweaty, disgusting hockey stuff," she swatted at him.

"You looked like you were having a blast out there," Steve grinned. "I was always a baseball fan, but I see I'll have to get into hockey."

"Oh man," she said. "I'll have to take you to a Habs game. You haven't experienced hockey until you've worshipped in the Bell Centre. Twenty thousand people cheering and drinking beer, it's the best."

"Twenty thousand people?" he let out a wolf whistle.

"It's a religion in Montreal, I swear," she told him. "And the team is good again, for the first time in years. We have a solid goaltender and one of the best defensemen in the league. There was an expansion, there's still the Original Six, though."

She chattered on about what he'd missed in hockey – mostly Maurice Richard – as they walked home, and she made pasta with shrimp and pesto for dinner, along with some freshly baked bread rolls and white wine, which they sipped on the patio, content.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Reviews! Yay! I write faster! This is another short one, but the last chapter was also short, so you get two for the price of one today.**

 **Also I have done a drawing of Evie: go to imgur*.*com*/*Qp9JG90 - take out the *.**

* * *

While the team was in Sokovia, Evie stayed behind, keeping Pepper company at the tower. They'd fallen into a good routine – when Steve went away, she moved into his suite at the tower, which is where he sometimes stayed, but 'home' was her apartment. They got a good balance of socializing and recovering this way. She still worked in the café six days a week, but she'd cut back her hours and given Anna full time, promoting her to manager. She'd also hired two more part timers – once Tony had started getting his coffee there, it had made the papers, and suddenly it was a happening joint, more than she could keep up with on her own, anyway.

She bustled around behind the counter, making coffee faster than Anna could ring it through the register. Gone were the days of sitting on the couch with her feet up. The money was nice, though.

Newcomers stared at her curiously. Her eyes, a strange shade of blue/green, artificial retinas glowing on occasion, were pretty much the main attraction. While she could have grown out her hair over the implant, she was kind of rocking the half-shaved look. Steve had come around to it, too, because he liked stroking the soft peach fuzz. Velvet, he called it, trailing his finger down the side of her head.

She'd had a dream the night before, about a city in the sky, and a feeling of impending doom.

She shook her head, and got back to work.

* * *

When the team got back from Sokovia, Tony threw a party. They were all gathered in the lounge, swapping stories and drinking. Thor's hammer made an appearance, and everyone took turns trying to move it. They had been just about to bust out the drunken karaoke when Ultron showed up.

And man, could that thing ruin a party.

She hadn't been able to do anything but cower behind a table. Jarvis, both her own version and Tony's, wasn't responding. Her Iron Legion suit never appeared.

When the dust settled, Ultron was gone, and Jarvis with him.

* * *

The team decided to go after them. Tony uploaded a new AI for himself, and gave an edited version of a different one – this one entirely in French – to Evie. He also keyed in her Iron Legion suit to this one version, so if Ultron returned, he couldn't override it.

"Salut, mademoiselle," the AI said when she activated it. He introduced himself as Guillaume – Guy for short, and she told him to prepare a tutorial mode for later.

"It's best if you stay here at the tower, with Pepper," Steve told her. "Your apartment might be the safer place to hide from Ultron, but you can do a better job of protecting yourself with Tony's resources."

She kissed him on the mouth. "Be careful, Slick."

"Always. Love you."

He jogged off down the corridor, pulling his mask over his face, shield at the ready.

* * *

She and Pepper had a girls' night in, chatting about their respective relationships while munching popcorn, Disney movies on in the background.

"Well, see, Steve isn't that different from Tony, in the long run. It's just Tony drinks to forget his problems, Steve doesn't have that option, I don't know if he'd take it if he did, but he does internalize things. He has nightmares," Evie revealed, sipping on her Diet Coke. "I've woken him up a few times and he's just sobbing."

"Wow," Pepper bowed her head. "They all have it rough, don't they?"

"Ships are safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for," Evie smiled at her. "They have abilities they feel they need to use to keep us safe. I can't fault them for that. I wish it were different, that we were just normal and Steve had a job, I don't know, driving trucks, and we just had an apartment and went hiking in the Adirondacks on the weekends – but it's not. So it's either live with it or leave. And I'm not gonna leave. Even when it gets hard to live with his ghosts."

"You're good at pep talks," Pepper grinned at her.

"I hang around with Steve, that's basically all he does. I swear, I felt lazy last Saturday and he pep-talked me into the shower."

"Did he get in with you?" Pepper teased.

"No comment."

"I think that's answer enough, no?"

"Ben, toi, farm ta yeule," Evie pointed at her. "Shut your mouth, before I start grilling you on whether or not the Iron Man is iron everywhere."

They collapsed in peals of laughter.

It was good to laugh.

* * *

The news was on all the time now, from the fuzzy, slightly orange and wibbly CRT TV in the corner above the door of the café. What was happening in Sokovia was being broadcast, and she watched in horror as the city was raised into the sky – the city from her dream. Her premonitions were disturbing her, she'd have to do something about that.

After she closed the café, instead of heading straight to the tower, she sidetracked to church, lighting a candle and kneeling in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary, saying a Novena for their safety.

She wasn't the only one in the church. After her prayer, she went to sit in a pew, and sat quietly, her head bowed, in silent solidarity with the others who were there praying for intercession.

A feeling of meditative calm came over her, as she relaxed into the pew. The candles, the smell of incense, it was all calming to her.

What could it hurt? Thor was real, after all.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: And now we start to flesh out the time between Age of Ultron and Civil War. This should be fun. We're going... Canadian.**

* * *

When the Avengers returned, they were battered and bruised, and carrying two extra members. Evie was introduced to Vision, who sounded like Jarvis, which weirded her out a bit, and Wanda. After debriefing and a little rest, everyone was going a little stir-crazy in the tower.

They needed a break.

Evie was the one who had come up with the idea.

"My Mom and her brother own this cottage, up north of the Thousand Islands. It's perfect – remote, quiet. Mom's in Cuba, and her brother is in Europe on business. It's perfect. I'll arrange things with her," she grinned. "Come on, road trip!"

In the end, the road trip consisted of her, Steve, Vision, Wanda and Nat. Clint had opted to head off on his own, Thor had returned to Asgard, and Tony and Bruce decided to hold down the fort and do whatever they got up to in their science-y stuff, Tony declaring Canadian cottage life 'too rustic' for his liking. Evie gave Tony the phone number at the cottage, because cell service up there was patchy at the best of times, and the five of them had packed up the black SUV with the roof rack.

"Dibs on driving!" Evie snatched the keys from the table.

"Shotgun!" hollered Nat.

"Aww, come on," Steve groaned.

"Just call that you aren't riding bitch!" Evie punched him on the arm playfully.

"What is… riding bitch?" Vision asked, looking so earnestly curious that everyone burst into laughter.

"It means being stuck in the middle of the back seat. Which can be a nightmare if you get carsick."

"Well, I know that's impossible," Vision said. "So I will ride the bitch."

"Oh my god, Chou, that's hilarious," Evie collapsed against the counter, laughing. Since her version of Jarvis had been completely disconnected from Tony's, Vision didn't have the same recollection of it, and therefore didn't object to the pet name like he did being called Jarvis.

"Come on, let's get a move on, it's a long drive," Steve said, sighing.

* * *

Nat sat with her feet up on the dashboard, drumming along on the armrest to the radio. All of the music was new to Steve and Vision, so Nat and Evie were performing impromptu Car Karaoke, sometimes very badly, much to the mutual annoyance and amusement of the backseat hostages.

"Can we stop at the next rest area? We should eat something. And I have to pee," Nat said, as one song ended.

"Sure, no problem. Next one's coming up in two exits. I should fill the tank, while we're at it."

"How long is this drive, anyway?" Steve asked. Vision was looking out the window in fascinated wonder, and Wanda was reading a book quietly, headphones jammed in her ears.

"Eh, seven hours tops, unless we hit a traffic snag somewhere. We'll stop to pick up some supplies, but we should get there by about eight tonight, if we don't dawdle too long."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you drive like a maniac?" Steve chided from the backseat, as she automatically swerved to avoid a pothole.

"I drive like a Montrealer, we're all nuts," she retorted. She pulled off at the next exit, and they all got out of the car to stretch their legs.

* * *

Wanda opted to switch seats with Vision so he could look out the window – which he did, almost like a puppy dog, window rolled down and all. She snoozed in the middle seat, her head eventually drooping onto his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind. Nat decided to give Steve a break and swapped seats with him – his knees were getting cramped, and she wanted to nap. Evie switched stations and turned the radio down, humming along to it softly, as they rolled up to the Canadian border.

Evie handed over all of their passports, and after the guards checked the trunk, they were on their way.

They stopped in Kingston and grabbed some groceries, then headed north. Bumping along gravel roads through thick woods, Evie eventually pulled into a gravel driveway and parked the car. Down a set of steps, through the trees, was a big log cabin, stone chimney against one wall.

They dragged their luggage down to the door as the light was beginning to fade, Evie fetching the spare key from underneath a random rock and unlocking the door.

"Home sweet home," she said, plunking the cooler down on the counter. "We'll get everything inside, and then we'll figure out sleeping arrangements," she grinned, opening the fridge and arranging items inside, including a case of beer.

She gave them the grand tour. The downstairs was open-concept, a kitchen and a living room with squashy, comfortable couches. A huge stone fireplace took up most of one wall, and there was a little dusty old CRT TV in the corner. There were built in bookshelves stuffed to the brim on either side of the fireplace, both with books and board games. A patio door led out into a glassed-in porch, which had a huge dining room table. The porch led out onto a deck, which looked out over a huge lake. The water was still, disturbed only by a couple of loons, whose haunting calls pierced as Evie opened one of the porch windows, letting in the crisp September evening air.

There was a bedroom containing a double bed and the bathroom downstairs. Upstairs was a lofted bedroom that also looked out over the lake, and a second bedroom with bunk beds.

"There are more beds in the outbuildings," she explained. "We have the bunkie – which has four bunks, usually that's where my brother and his drunk friends get put, and the Love Shack, also known as the shed-with-a-bed. But everyone can fit inside the cottage, unless they feel like going off alone, I think."

"I don't really need sleep, as it were," Vision explained. "I'll be content to pass the nights reading. I can rest, but I don't operate the same way you do."

"I'll share the bunk room with Wanda," Nat said, tossing her duffel on the top bunk.

"Downstairs or upstairs?" Evie turned to Steve.

"I don't think I could beat waking up to this," Steve said, looking out over the sunset on the lake. "Upstairs."

"Well, Chou, that means you get the downstairs bedroom," Evie patted him on the shoulder. "That actually works out. If you're puttering around at all hours, at least you won't be disturbing anyone else. Now, you guys make yourselves at home, I'm gonna rustle us up some Kraft Dinner."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I found a use for a drabble I wrote earlier, and had posted - good ol' Soviet Hypnosis.**

* * *

They sat around the table, a bowl of suspiciously neon macaroni and cheese in front of each of them – except Vision, who was working on a crossword puzzle book – in pen. The rain started not long after sundown – a drizzle that pinged off the tin roof, cooling off the room enough that Evie shut the windows. Steve built a fire in the fireplace, and soon they were all sitting on the floor around the coffee table, playing a game of Uno.

"It's really peaceful here," Nat said, setting down her cards. "This was a good idea."

"Hopefully it won't rain all week," Evie grinned. "I'd like to take you guys out on the lake, and there's tons of stuff to do outside. Although I do have the old Nintendo here, which is fun on a rainy day."

"Ooh, what games do you have?"

"Super Mario, Zelda, Blades of Steel, a couple of game show games, Dr. Mario, and good ol' Soviet Hypnosis," said Evie. Steve looked at her in alarm.

"Steve, it's a joke. The game was designed by a Russian and it's addicting, but it won't turn anyone actually crazy," Nat explained, laughing.

"It's actually called Tetris," Evie explained. "It's a puzzle. You have to make lines. I could fire it up for you, if you want to see."

"May I try?" Vision held up the controller gingerly between his fingers when she handed it to him, then corrected his grip.

"All right, Big Red," she told him. "Left and right on the d-pad to move the piece. A rotates it clockwise, B rotates it counter-clockwise, press down to put the piece down faster. The goal is to clear lines by filling the screen horizontally, but you also want to get Tetrises – lay down pieces with a space left for one of those line pieces. If it shows up. Clear four lines at once, get the points."

She pressed start and launched into the game. As soon as Vision had figured it out, algorithms were flitting through his mind, calculating the probability of the sequences of pieces. _Oh_ , he thought. _It's as simple as that._

"Dude, you're like some kind of savant at this," Evie said in wonder. "You might even get the highest score."

* * *

After half an hour, the entire group was gathered around the TV, cards forgotten, watching as Vision was flicking the pieces faster than was humanly possible. But seeing as he wasn't entirely human, this was fascinating to everyone.

"Yeah, get it, Viz!" Wanda pumped her fist in the air, jumping up. Vision looked at her instead of at the television, and in an instant, lost the game, the pieces were flying so fast.

"Whoa man, high score!" Evie took the controller from him and plugged VIZ in as the initials. "Seriously you could probably break some kind of record."

"I think that's enough video games for today," Steve discouraged.

"All right, Dad," Nat rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty tired anyway. Why don't we leave Vision to his video games, and turn in? It's getting late."

* * *

Very early the next morning, Vision found Evie sitting on the steps outside on the deck, a cup of coffee cradled in her hands.

"Hello," he said, sitting down beside her.

"Communing with the Buddha," she laughed, pointing out the statue in the garden. "If the weather is nice, I like to drink my coffee out here. In nature. I also didn't want to wake the others. Want to go for a walk? I want to check on the dock."

He looked strange, still in his uniform, just minus the cape. She supposed he just looked like that, he didn't seem to work the same way as normal people did. She smiled at him.

"So what did you do all night, Chou?" she asked, as he followed her down the wooden steps on the hill.

"I don't understand why you call me that," Vision said softly.

"I can stop, if you want," she smiled. "It's a pet name. Everyone around me gets one eventually. Steve is Slick."

"I don't mind," he smiled slightly. "I was merely curious. And I spent the night perusing your bookshelves. I read through an anthology of Shakespeare."

"Masochist," she chuckled. "Doing all that in one night?"

"I played some more of the Tetris game, but it ceased to be challenging."

"Of course. I'll get you into Super Mario next," she promised, looking him up and down. "Do you always wear that?"

"Wear… oh. I suppose humans change their clothes, don't they?" he looked down at himself, as they came to the clearing next to the dock.

"Usually," she looked down at herself, dressed in flannel pajama pants and an oversized Pepsi hoodie, yawning widely. "Excuse me. Hmm. I need to wake up a bit." She stuck her coffee cup on the stump they'd converted to a table, and pulled off her hoodie. She stripped down to her underwear, and dove off the dock into the lake. She came up for air, gasping but laughing.

Vision dove off the dock after her. He'd converted his outfit to simply a pair of shorts, and swam in a circle, returning to the dock, as Evie pulled herself out, and shook, like a dog. Steam rose off of her body – the water was much colder than the air – and she shivered.

"There we go, Canadian morning. Tim's coffee, a dip in a frigid lake, and the sounds of birds chirping," she slapped at her arm. "And, of course, the mosquitoes."

* * *

Steve stood in the bedroom window, narrowing his eyes as he watched Evie rise out of the water, dressed in… well, practically nothing. He tried to bite back the bubbling jealousy that welled up within him as she reached down and pulled the also scantily clad Vision out of the lake, laughing at something he said.

He closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples, and returned to sit on the bed.

* * *

Evie headed back up to the cabin to dress properly, having put her hoodie on over her wet undergarments. She left Vision watching a pair of mallard ducks swimming and diving, the cold not bothering him one bit as he curiously observed the pair of creatures. She'd have to give him some lettuce to feed them later.

Steve looked at her as she walked in the room. She walked over to kiss him, but he turned his face, and she got a mouthful of cheek stubble instead.

"Morning, Slick," she told him, stripping naked. Gooseflesh had risen on her cold skin, her nipples hardened by the water. She began pulling clothes out of her suitcase, bent over enticingly. Steve watched her, his gaze burning into her back, as she slipped a tank top over her head and stepped into a pair of panties. "Sleep okay?"

Steve was silent. She furrowed her brow, and walked over to stand in front of him. "Hey, is everything all right?"

He looked up at her, his eyes smoldering. "What were you doing down at the dock?"

"Testing the water," she kissed his forehead. "Were you watching? It's pretty cold down there."

Steve nodded, biting his lip and shifting uncomfortably, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"Aha. And you think I was being a flirt," she sat down beside him, taking his hand in hers. "I only have eyes for you, Slick."

"I just…"

She cut him off with a kiss. "I know. How about we both work on these things. I'll try to be less of a flirt – my personality kind of lends itself to that, I know I do it – and you work on taming the jealousy and trusting me more."

"I do trust you," he said. "I do."

"I know," she grinned at him. "Jealousy isn't rational, is it? It's just your gut saying 'hands off, she's mine'."

"Jealousy is poison," Steve sighed. "I don't want to be jealous."

She pulled him back onto the bed. "Well, why don't I show you just how much I like you…"

"There's other people in the house," Steve warned.

"They're all sleeping, and we'll just have to be quiet, won't we?" she was already sliding his underwear down his hips, taking him in her hand, enjoying the gasp that he emitted when she did, bucking his hips up into her hand as she trailed her fingers over the tip of his now-hardening length.

He thought he'd died and gone to heaven when she engulfed him in her mouth, her eyes glowing as she gazed up at him through her lashes. His cheeks were flushed, and he tangled his hand in her hair, using the other to hold him up, his abdominal muscles tightening, as he tried not to cry out.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: A short one for tonight. Love to everyone who has left a review!**

* * *

After a pancake breakfast that Evie had whipped up, she packed a picnic lunch and everyone headed down to the dock. Steve and Vision pulled the canoe from the boathouse, placing it gently in the water, followed by the two kayaks. She distributed life jackets – even made Vision wear one, despite his protests.

"In case some kids see you," she said. "They won't know, and then might think its okay for them not to wear one."

"All right," he said, taking it from her and putting it on.

"Okay, so who wants what?"

"Why don't you and Viz take the two-man kayak?" Nat said. "I'm fine on my own, and you can follow my lead."

"Perfect," Evie clapped her hands together, hopping into the wooden canoe and scooting up towards the front. Steve followed her into one, as Nat showed the two newbies how to get into a kayak.

Soon they were paddling across the glassy lake, the sound of the oars hitting the water and the wind in the trees soothing, almost meditative.

Evie directed them all to a beach on the island in the middle of the lake, hopping out of the boat and wading in to pull the others into the sand. She pulled some blankets out of the canoe and laid them on the sand, and they sat around playing cards and munching on peanut butter and jam sandwiches, enjoying what was probably the last of the summer sun.

* * *

They returned to the cabin late, the sun already beginning to set. They were all a little sunburnt, but having enjoyed the day. Evie tossed some burgers on the grill, and Steve lit a campfire outside. They made smores for dessert, and the three girls got a little silly drinking beer.

Evie, face flushed and laughing, retrieved a guitar from the cabin, and, perching on a stump in front of the fire, began to strum it, tuning it.

"I didn't know you played," Steve said, as she gave him a smug grin.

"I don't, really," she picked out a few notes. "I know about two dozen songs, most of them Canadian, and that's it. I'm no professional. Stuff to play around the campfire. It's the only place I perform."

"We should like to hear you sing," Vision leaned forward, capturing a marshmallow between graham crackers and handing it to Wanda.

"Yes, please," Wanda said, biting into the gooey treat. "You toast them perfectly, Viz."

Evie began to strum, picking out the tune that came first to her mind – _Heaven_ – her singing voice deep, a little raspy, perfect for the song. She didn't have much power behind her voice, but she was on key, and knew how to use it to her advantage.

She played through a few songs, finishing with _Song for the Mira._ Wanda yawned widely, which was echoed by Nat, who was staring into the fire. So Evie finished the song, as Steve put out the fire.

 _Now I'll conclude with a wish you go well_

 _Sweet be your dreams and your happiness swell_

 _I'll leave you here, for my journey begins_

 _I'm going to be with them, going to be with them,_

 _I'm going to be with them again._

* * *

 _And baby you're all that I want_

 _When you're lying here in my arms_

 _I'm finding it hard to believe_

 _We're in heaven…_

Evie sang quietly in Steve's ear, as they slow-danced in their bedroom, looking out at the twinkling stars. She laid her head on his shoulder, kissing his neck.

"I like that song," he murmured, bending his head to kiss her. "You have a very sexy voice."

"Is that gonna be our song?" she teased.

"I wouldn't mind," he replied, leading her to the bed. She pulled her sundress over her head, and stood naked before him. "…Have you been not wearing underwear all day?"

"Going commando," she pointed her finger at him like a gun.

"The things you do to me," he murmured, crushing her to him and grinding his hips against hers. She tugged his shirt over his head, and kissed a trail down his chest as she undid his jeans and slipped her hand in. "Ungh."

They tumbled into bed together, and he pinned Evie beneath him – her softness yielding to his hardness, her body pliant and supple but astonishingly strong, as she fisted her hands in his hair and kissed him until he saw stars.

They made love slowly, quietly, muffling their cries of pleasure in each other's skin as they reached their peaks.

Steve buried his face in her damp blue curls, wrapping his arms around her, and fell asleep, happier than he'd ever felt in his life, all of the worries and cares he carried for once dissipating, and he slept peacefully, dreamless, for the first time since he came out of the ice.


	14. Chapter 14

They passed the rest of the week in much the same way - spending time on the lake, sitting at the dock, evenings in front of the campfire or, when it rained, watching a movie.

All Evie had up there was old VHS tapes - mostly Disney - but nobody seemed to mind. She put a dutch oven full of popcorn on the fire, and poured melted butter over it. She and Nat knew all the songs, which had evolved into some pretty silly duets.

* * *

"Hey, do you guys mind if we do a detour on the way home?" Evie asked, cradling the phone that she'd just answered in between her shoulder and ear, covering the mouthpiece.

"I don't mind, why?" Steve shrugged. The others agreed.

"It's my Nonna, she wants to have us come visit. It'll tack another three hours onto our trip, but we can leave Saturday instead of Sunday, and stay with her, she has plenty of room."

"Your Nonna?" Wanda looked puzzled.

"My grandmother," Evie grinned. "Believe me, it'll be worth it. Her cooking is the best."

"Let's do it," Nat smiled at her.

"But..." Vision started to interrupt, staring at his hands. Evie patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, she knows about you. The only thing she might do is try to make you eat." Evie smiled, and then began chatting in rapid Italian. She hung up the phone, reaching behind her to replace the receiver. "She was talking to Mom, who told her I was in Canada. So she wants to see me, and she's excited to meet you guys, too."

"It's the first time I'll be meeting any of your family," Steve looked a little nervous.

"Don't worry, she'll love you. You have a healthy appetite, that's her favourite thing in the world," Evie grinned, crunching on a piece of bacon.

* * *

That Saturday morning they bid goodbye to the cottage, gathering all of the sheets into a laundry basket to bring back to Montreal, packing their bags and loading up the car. They piled into it, Steve and Evie in the front seat, Nat, Vision and Wanda in the back.

"It really is beautiful up here," Nat said, looking out at the trees as they bumped along the gravel road back to the main road. "Thank you for inviting us."

"Yes," Vision echoed. "I feel like this has been an interesting and fulfilling experience."

"You're welcome any time," Evie grinned into the rearview mirror. "Seriously, this has been the most fun I've had up here in years."

Evie cranked up the radio, rock music blaring, and she and Nat launched into an Aerosmith song. They made one stop, at an On Route on the 401, so Evie could put some gas in the car and everyone could stretch their legs, then continued on their way.

"And now," she said, as they pulled onto a bridge. "We're going onto the island of Montreal."

She wove her way around potholes, some drivers zipping past, half of them not using their turn signals.

"Okay," Steve said, gripping the dashboard. "I see what you mean about Montreal drivers."

"The main thing about driving here is to assume everybody is an asshole. Even you. And if you don't just do things, you'll never get anywhere. Nobody is gonna let you in while you're merging, you gotta just go." She swerved to miss a giant pothole. "Oh, and the roads are awful."

"There are a lot of orange cones," Vision observed.

"Oh, construction is an ongoing process, we probably have more of those than any city in the world. I don't even know if they're doing anything, they just put them there so people think they're working, that's my theory anyway."

She drove over the Turcot interchange, pointing out the scary looking patches, amused at the horrified reactions of her friends. She exited at Atwater and headed for Pointe St. Charles - The Pointe, as she explained. She parked in front of a row of duplexes, the outside stairs characteristic of Montreal architecture. She led them to one house in the row that had a beautiful front garden, full of flowers, knocked on the door, and opened it without waiting for an answer.

A tiny, bird-like woman came rushing when she opened the door, wiping her hands on an apron.

"Ciao, come va?" Evie bent to hug her, kissing her on both cheeks. "This is Steve. Steve, Nonna."

Nonna reached her arms out to him, and he had to bend to hug her, she was so petite, and she grasped his face, nattering in Italian. She turned to the rest of the friends and gave them the same treatment - a big bear hug, then a two-cheek bise. Even Vision. She hadn't even blinked. He was dressed in a pair of light grey dress pants and a button down shirt, and looked very tidy, compared to the rest of them in their jeans.

She led them through into a giant kitchen, complete with a dining room.

"Sit, sit," she told them, in her accented English. "I make lunch."

Through the windows, a giant garden took up the entire back yard. Vegetables - tomato plants, cucumber, fruit trees, everything imaginable - took up the patch of land.

They sat around the table, and Nonna pulled off her apron, serving them bruschetta on freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven. She sat with them, next to Vision, who sat with his elbows politely kept off the table, but didn't serve himself.

"You no eat?" she asked him, regarding him curiously.

"I don't require food, no," he replied, giving her a wan smile.

"Ah, you eat for pleasure, then," she told him, serving him a piece of bruschetta. "You don't need, but you enjoy anyway."

Evie smiled at him from across the table in amusement as he picked up the piece of bread, laden with tomatoes seasoned with basil from her garden, and took a tentative bite. His eyes widened.

"This is... very good," he said, after he swallowed a bite. "Thank you."

"Prego. You're welcome," she turned to Evie. "I make eggplant parmigiana for lunch, lasagna for dinner."

"You're trying to fatten me up," Evie laughed.

"You too skinny anyway," she gesticulated dismissively, as the oven beeped. She bustled into the kitchen, and came back wearing oven mitts, carrying a tray of delicious smelling eggplant, which she placed on a trivet. She served everyone, and added a bit of salad, also fresh from the garden, and passed around her homemade balsamic vinaigrette.

"Vino?" she asked, uncorking a bottle. "I make myself."

"Of course," Evie grinned, taking the bottle from her and pouring a little into everyone's glass, the fragrant red liquid shimmering in the sunlight that came through the window. "She really makes it herself. She has grape vines in the garden."

"Do you grow all of your own food?" Vision asked curiously, as he bit into a piece of the eggplant.

"Yes," she replied. "I have chicken, too. Not supposed to in the city, but neighbours don't mind, I give them the eggs and my tomato sauce. Nobody tell on me."

"Ah, Nonna, food bribery always works," she chuckled, touching Steve's hand.

"He is handsome, your man," Nonna teased. Steve went red around the ears. "Is good. I like. He is polite."

"That he is," she nudged him with her shoulder. "Handsome, polite, brave."

"Good," Nonna grinned at him.

After lunch, espresso with sambuca and amaretti cookies, they stayed around the table. Steve and Vision rose, insisting on doing the dishes, Steve washing, Vision drying.

"I like them very much," Nonna told Evie, sitting at the table sipping her coffee with the rest of the girls.

"Me too," Evie grinned. When they'd finished, Evie rose to help them put away everything.

"Come, we go sit in the parlour," Nonna said, leading them into the front room of the house.


	15. Chapter 15

The furniture was immaculate, a piano against the wall. She sank into a chair, her hands folded in her lap, as the others perched on the sofas. She reached under the coffee table and pulled out a photo album.

"Aww, Nonna, no," Evie protested, cheeks flaming. Steve laughed.

"Baby pictures?"

"And middle school pictures," Evie cringed.

Nonna flipped open the album. On the first page was a black and white photograph of herself and a severe looking man, standing by a pier.

"This was when we come to Canada," she explained. "After the war. Mussolini was horrible man, we want to come to land where there were opportunity and we could be free."

They flipped through the album, through pictures of Evie's father and his sibling, to pictures of a wild-haired child in frilly party dresses and dirty tights - Evie as a kid.

"You sure were cute," Steve teased, turning the page.

"Yeah, yeah," Evie rolled her eyes. They moved into the middle school years, when she added a pair of granny glasses and braces to her look - dorky and awkward.

However, her graduation look was gorgeous. In a beaded red dress, her dark hair curled in a chignon at the base of her neck, she looked glamorous, Old Hollywood at it's best.

"Prom?" Nat asked.

"Basically," Evie shrugged.

"So beautiful, my only granddaughter," Nonna smiled at her, shutting the book and placing it lovingly back under the coffee table. "Now, I have to go make the lasagna. Why don't you take your friends for a walk in the neighbourhood? It's a beautiful day."

"All right," Evie got to her feet. "Who wants to come with?"

* * *

In the end, Vision opted to stay behind and help Nonna in the kitchen, rolling up his shirtsleeves. They left him making a well in a pile of flour, about to crack a fresh egg into it.

Evie led them through the Pointe, heading towards Atwater market, pointing out local landmarks.

"This was, back when Nonna and Nonno first moved here, the roughest neighbourhood in Montreal. It was poor, mostly Irish immigrants and their descendants," she explained. "It's an area very much in transition now. But it was rough even when I was a kid. When Dad grew up it was downright dangerous. Work was scarce, but Nonno always found something to do, and Nonna and her garden goodies were pretty popular. If money was tight, she'd sell her sauces and jams and stuff. Nonno died about ten years ago."

"She's awesome," Nat smiled. "She seems tough."

"And her food is really good," Wanda chimed in, as they approached the market.

"Here, let's go in," Evie ducked under a bunch of hanging plants, and led her friends into the building with the clock tower.

* * *

Steve ended up buying a bouquet of lilies for Nonna's table, and the girls picked out some souvenirs from a kiosk - Nat got some funny fridge magnets for Clint. They headed back to Nonna's house.

"We're back," Evie called, kicking off her shoes by the front door. Nonna called something back in Italian, and they met her in the kitchen. Steve, blushing slightly, handed Nonna the bouquet of lilies.

"My favourite!" she declared, touching his cheek. "You are a gentleman. Grazie. Thank you."

"No, thank you, for your hospitality."

Nonna smiled at him, undoing the paper and beginning to arrange the flowers in her favourite crystal vase. She shooed everyone but Evie into the living room, and sent Evie outside into the garden with a pair of kitchen shears and a basket.

Peering through the sheer lace curtains at her granddaughter, she bustled into the living room.

"Steve," she said, in her accented Italian. "Come with me."

He followed her into a bedroom, a cozy quilt on the bed, where she opened a drawer of the dresser, pulling out a blue velvet box. She gave it to him.

He opened it, puzzled.

"Evie is my only granddaughter, this was always meant for her. It is my engagement ring, from 1942. I think, sometime, you will want to give it to her?"

Steve sucked in a breath as he looked at the delicate ring, three tiny diamonds winking from old-fashioned settings, little flowers, with golden bows down the side.

"I haven't met the rest of her family yet," he said.

"No matter," Nonna shrugged. "My son is never here, and they are not close. Her mama would approve of you. I know. You have an old soul. You have my blessing."

"Thank you," he bent to hug the tiny, delicate woman. "I mean it. Thank you."

"You look at her like the sun rises in her eyes," Nonna said wisely. "Now, scoot into the parlour before we get caught."

He kissed her paper-thin, wrinkled cheek, slipping the box into his pocket.

* * *

Dinner was a raucous affair. Evie didn't know what Nonna had said to Vision while they were gone, but he seemed to be as relaxed as he'd been at the cottage, the stiff formality having melted away. Her grandmother was known for being remarkably accepting, usually seeing through to the core of people almost instantly.

The lasagna was amazing, the wine poured liberally, and Nonna regaled them with tales from her so-called 'wild youth', as well as stories about Evie as a child - the time she'd managed to lock herself in the laundry room, or the time she'd eaten an entire box of chocolates she'd stolen from the kitchen counter and made herself sick.

She served coffee and anise sugar cookies, and they talked until the clock in the hall chimed midnight.

Nonna dictated the sleeping arrangements that night - in one guest bedroom with twin beds, Vision and Steve, in the other bedroom, which had a double bed and a single bed, Nat and Evie would share, and Wanda would get the single.

"There," Nonna stood with her hands on her hips. "Good night, all of you."

She disappeared into her bedroom.

* * *

"Hey, Viz," Steve asked, as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course," Vision was sitting cross legged on the bed, a book in his lap. He looked up at Steve. "I'd ask if something was troubling you, but you look about ready to burst with excitement."

"Nonna gave me her engagement ring," he pulled the box out of his pocket, and handed it to Vision. "It hadn't even occurred to me that I want to propose. I thought about someday, of course. But this just... I don't know."

Vision opened the box, turning it slightly so the light caught the diamonds, winking.

"She is a remarkable woman," Vision said. "I think she is the first person who has treated me as entirely human, without question. She didn't make me feel like any questions I had were annoyances, or that something is wrong with me because of my appearance. She just... treated me like the rest of you. Like she treats Evie." He snapped the box shut and handed it back. "Her blessing holds meaning, doesn't it?"

Steve nodded.

"I will not breathe a word to anyone," Vision promised, smiling.

* * *

The next morning, after a breakfast of frothy cappuccinos made by Evie, complete with hearts drawn in the foam, and lovely flaky croissants, they bid farewell to Nonna, Evie hugging her for a long moment, breathing in her scent - basil, flour, and anise - and piled into the car.


	16. Chapter 16

September passed, the Avengers sent out on a couple of missions, but nothing that was shown on the news networks.

The second Monday in October, Evie closed the cafe for Canadian Thanksgiving. The Avengers had just returned from a mission, so they were all on down time - she invited everyone to dinner. She enlisted Wanda's help, because it turned out that the girl was a pretty good cook - and she'd developed a bit of a friendship with her.

It seemed that most of the Avengers hadn't really taken into account just how hard the loss of her twin brother had been on her, with the exception of Hawkeye, Vision, and, after a little prodding, Steve.

It had come up after their return from the cottage. They had wanted to train her better, so she'd been left behind for a few missions. Evie had taken to inviting her over for movie nights, mostly cartoons. They'd been watching The Land Before Time - Evie managed to bite back the tears, but when she looked over at her newfound friend, she saw her shoulders silently shaking in sobs.

"Aww, sweetheart," she reached out her arms, pulling her in for a hug. "I'm a twit, this movie is a sob story at the best of times, and I'm an insensitive clod."

"I'm sorry," the girl's accent was thicker with emotion, after she'd sobbed for a few minutes. "I should be stronger."

"Do you really think it makes you weak, to cry for someone you love?" Evie looked her in the face. "Doesn't it speak more of how much you loved them, how much you miss them? I think tears make you stronger. Tears come from scars on the heart." Evie smiled at her, then decided to confide in her a secret she hadn't spoken of in years. "When I was fifteen years old, my big brother died. He was my best friend. It was why my parents split up. He was in a motorcycle accident." She took a steadying breath. "I wanted to die. I walked back and forth on a bridge, I thought about jumping. My Dad started drinking, my Mom was lost in a depression, she'd sit at his grave weeping for hours. I don't think she'll ever get past it."

"I haven't been to his grave, not since the funeral," Wanda confessed. "I feel... I don't know that I have the words for how I feel."

"Like your soul has been wrenched in two," Evie nodded. "Like you want to live for both of you, but you don't want to live without them. I think of JF every day. Nobody in my family talks about him. Nobody displays pictures of him, even. I haven't even told Steve. It just... we don't talk about it." She shook her head. "And that's bullshit. We should talk about it."

"Stupid movie," Wanda sniffled, as Evie handed her a tissue, swiping at her own eyes. "I have only cried in front of you... and Viz."

"Viz is a nice guy," Evie said, with a knowing wink. "Cute, too. And that voice. Rawr."

Wanda laughed, shaking her head. "He's a good friend."

"Suuuuure," Evie grinned at her. "He's got a huge crush on you."

"Do you think so?" Wanda bit her lip.

"He becomes a tongue-tied butterfingers the second you're around," Evie said. "Men don't do that unless they've got it bad."

Wanda smiled at her, nudging her playfully. "You know how to cheer a girl up."

"Why don't we go for a walk?" Evie stood up, shutting off the TV. "We can go light a candle for Pietro, and for JF."

"I would like that," Wanda grabbed her black trench coat, Evie her leather jacket.

They headed out of Evie's apartment, Evie leading them to Holy Cross - her haunt of choice, the imposing red brick building standing out amongst the glassed-in skyscrapers that surrounded it. She pushed open the door, holding it for Wanda.

In silence, they walked into the nave. Evie stopped and crossed herself with the holy water, and led Wanda to an altar, candles burning before it. The smell of incense hung heavily in the air, as Evie lit a stick from one candle, slipping some money into the box, and lit a candle, handing the stick to Wanda, who lit the next, her head bowed.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

"Amen," Wanda repeated, looking up into the serene face of the Virgin Mary. "Do you think she's listening?"

"I don't know," Evie admitted. "I always hoped so. And if she is, she understands."

Arm in arm, they left the church.

* * *

Shaking herself out of the memory, Evie kicked the fridge shut, arms laden with vegetables.

"Can you peel and dice these?" Evie asked, handing a knife to Wanda. Instead of a turkey, she was going to make what was usually a Christmas favourite back home – tourtière, and pot-en-pot. "It'll be all pies," she explained to Wanda, with a conspiratorial wink. "Pot-en-pot is seafood pie – sort of like chicken pot pie - from the Magdalen Islands, and tourtière is a pork pie. And of course, I'll also make pumpkin pie and apple pie."

"I've never made a pie," Wanda shrugged. "I make dumplings, though."

"It's all in the crust," Evie grinned. "I'll show you my secrets."

She combined shortening and flour, and mixed in ice cold water, cutting it together with two forks, until it was the perfect consistency. Dividing it into eight pieces, she began to roll it out on the floured butcher block using wax paper.

"The key is not to touch it with your hands," she explained. "The heat from your fingers changes it, it's not as good."

She lined the bottom of four large casserole dishes, and set about making the fillings. She'd hit up markets around the city – getting lobster, scallops, shrimp, bacon and ground pork, fresh apples, and has sent away to Nonna for dried herbs.

The seafood pie filling was creamy and briny, the tourtière scented with sage, thyme and cloves. She slipped the four pies into the oven, and started making the dessert.

Wanda was mixing the apples she'd peeled and chopped, with nutmeg, ginger, cloves, and cinnamon. She set the vegetables on the stove, potatoes ready to boil. Evie had timed everything so that everyone would arrive about fifteen minutes before the pies came out of the oven, and the desserts would go in. Wanda liked cooking; there was something meditative about it, and Evie didn't seem to mind existing in companionable silence. She hummed along to a song on the radio.

The bells on the door handle chimed as Steve walked in, followed by Clint, Nat, and Sam. He sniffed the air.

"I don't know what you're making," he said, as she pulled off her dusty apron. "But it smells fantastic."


	17. Chapter 17

"Pies," she replied, with a mysterious smile. "Here, why don't you set the tables for me? We pulled them all together earlier." She handed him plates, cutlery, and napkins, and Steve and Sam laid the table, while Nat and Clint fetched glasses.

"What's the occasion?" Sam asked. He and Steve had become close friends in the past couple of months.

"Canadian Thanksgiving," Evie replied.

"Thanksgiving's in November, though," Clint raised an eyebrow at her.

"Not in Canada. We like a longer break between turkey dinners. But I'm making traditional pies instead."

"I don't care what the occasion is, it smells really good," Steve leaned over the counter to kiss her as was fluting the edge of the apple pie with a fork.

* * *

Tony banged on the door, then entered, followed by Pepper, Vision and Rhodes.

"Oh, something smells heavenly," Pepper walked over to the counter. "Can I help?"

"Everything is under control back here," Evie said. "But you can pour some wine, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes."

"I'm on it," Pepper said, turning the bottle over to look at the label. "Canadian, too?"

"If there's one things we Canucks love, it's Canuck stuff," Evie joked. "There's St. Ambroise pumpkin ale, too, for whoever fancies that instead. Over in the fridge by the register." She walked across the room and locked the door from the inside, then returned to peek at the vegetables.

She sent Wanda to chat with Vision, who since his encounter with Nonna had taken to trying foods and drinks for pleasure. She handed him a bottle of beer, clinked them together, then took a sip of the one she'd been working on behind the counter. They were still dancing around each other, although Wanda was being a little more outwardly flirtatious than she had been.

Putting some quiet Montréal jazz on the radio, Evie started shooing people towards the table. The oven beeped, and she removed the steaming pies.

"So what do we have here?" Rhodes asked, as she set one on the table.

"We have pot-en-pot, which is a seafood pie from the Magdalen Islands, almost like a seafood chowder in a crust, and we have tourtière, which is typically eaten at Christmas, but I decided we'd have it tonight. And mashed potatoes and some steamed vegetables."

"This all looks so good," Pepper slid into a chair beside Tony, Rhodes on his other side.

"So, be careful, the dishes are hot," she said, serving plates and passing them around. A dish of Nonna's homemade ketchup was passed around, and she held up her glass of white wine. "Salut, good food, good friends, and the urban family."

"Cheers!" came the echoing response.

They dug in. Conversation around the table ranged from family traditions to the most recent missions, everyone seeming to be relaxed and enjoying themselves. Evie had noticed a tension of late between Steve and Tony – they'd always butted heads, but it seemed to be taking on a more hostile tone lately, which wasn't present tonight – whether they'd actually put aside their differences or not.

Evie brought out the pies, still warm from the oven, homemade whipped cream, and homemade vanilla gelato. She served up the steaming desserts, most people taking a small sliver of each pie.

"This tastes different from normal pumpkin pie," Tony said, gesturing with his fork. "What's in it?"

"It's Drunken Pumpkin Pie," Evie responded. "It's got whiskey in it."

Tony let out a bark of laughter. "Of course it does. It's really good."

Steve tucked into a second slice of apple pie – of course, his favorite. "This is probably the best apple pie I've ever had," he told her, swirling a piece of apple in the melting ice cream.

"It's the first apple pie I've ever had," Vision smiled at her, his eyes glowing. "But I would definitely try it again."

"She sets the bar pretty high, man," Clint clapped him on the back. "Just so you know."

Pepper, Vision, Steve and Sam insisted on doing the dishes, loading the dishwasher and putting away the leftovers, while Evie chatted with Rhodey and Tony, trading sarcastic remarks with the latter across the table.

Once the dishes were done, everyone moved over to the couches, as she served her perennial favorite, coffee with shots of sambuca in it.

* * *

They chatted late into the night, and eventually everyone drifted off, leaving Steve and Evie alone in the café. Evie locked up, and they walked back to her apartment.

"You know, that's the first time in… well, since I was a kid, that I've felt like I have a real family," Steve told her. "So thank you. I'm thankful for you, and for my team."

"You're a quirky little family," she replied, reaching up to kiss him.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Last chapter of fluff before we get down to some real plot.**

With Halloween rapidly approaching, Evie made arrangements for herself and Steve to go pumpkin picking upstate. Borrowing a car from Tony – but not one of the fancy ones – Steve and Evie headed out of the city. They'd decided to make a weekend of it, and had booked into a hotel.

"Ooh, a mini-break," Nat had teased. "Must be getting serious."

"We've only been together a few months," Evie rolled her eyes. "You're been watching _Bridget Jones_ again." She threw some clothes into a suitcase. "We're gonna pick pumpkins and go horseback riding, then have a movie night at the hotel."

"Did he book you two rooms?" Clint was perched on her windowsill, watching the pigeons on the fire escape.

"How do you keep ending up in my house?" she threw a pair of socks at him, which he caught without looking.

"I hang out with Nat, Nat hangs out here, I hang out here," he shrugged. "Plus if I'm here I don't gotta listen to Tony's garbage."

"I have a pretty extensive music collection, I'm sure I can oblige," she teased, folding a flannel shirt.

"I dig the smooth jazz," he grinned at her.

"Next time it's gonna be all boy bands, all the time."

"I dig those, too."

"Damnit."

* * *

"The colors sure are pretty," Steve peered out the window as they wove through the Adirondacks. "Fall in New England has to be the best time of year."

"Well, Canada, too. People come to Quebec from all over to see the changing seasons," Evie teased.

"East Coast, then," he leaned back in his seat, enjoying the cool breeze coming through the window.

"I'm excited to be getting away."

"Me too," Steve sighed. "As much as I love the time, I feel like every time I turn around I'm tripping over one of them – or another problem. Things are escalating lately and I don't like it."

"Just be careful."

"Always."

* * *

They pulled up to the farm, gravel crackling under their tires as Evie parked the car. They spent a good amount of time selecting pumpkins, then getting thoroughly lost in the corn maze, but the highlight of the day was the horseback riding.

A tiny girl in cowboy boots was putting saddles on two horses for them. Evie had splurged on a private ride with the guide, so it was just the two of them. She cuddled down into her blue scarf as the girl held the reins while she mounted.

"This is Gunpowder. Have you ridden before?" the guide asked.

"Yeah, it's been a few years, but I used to ride a lot," she took the reins and placed them behind the pommel, bringing the horse's head up. Patting his dappled grey side, she murmured to him as the guide helped a somewhat-nervous Steve mount a sedate bay mare.

They were off, walking through the woods where the sunlight filtered through the trees, nature's version of a stained-glass window, a rare and precious jewel of a day.

They came to a clearing, and Evie pulled ahead of the guide.

"Mind if I run him a bit?"

"Not at all, you seem to have a good handle on him. I'll get your friend trotting on Daisy. Hold at the end of the field, okay?"

"No problem," she gave Gunpowder a little kick, clicking to him, and he took off in a trot, which she eased into a canter and then a gallop, leaning low over his neck. Steve shielded his eyes against the setting sun, watching horse and rider, looking like they belonged together. He followed the guide at a trot as they caught up to Evie, who had halted at the end of the field, and was patting her horse on the neck and letting him pick at the tall grass there. She grinned at him, and they kept following the trail.

* * *

"Ooh, Steve, come look at this," Evie was exploring their hotel room. Steve poked his head around the corner, looking into the bathroom where she now stood.

"Whoa, that is a huge tub," he raised his eyebrows.

"It has jets, even," she grinned. "Just the thing after a ride, don't you think?"

"Is that an invitation?" he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She fired her bra at him in response.

They soaked in the roiling hot water, Evie curled up against Steve's chest. She kissed along his jawline, grinning when she felt him swallow thickly. His hands moved over her shoulders and down her arms, gripping her tightly as she nibbled the sensitive skin behind his ear, and she slid her hand down his chest.

Their eyes met, hers glowing aquamarine in the candlelight. He stood, water sluicing off of him, and grabbed a big, fluffy towel. He dried himself quickly, then lifted Evie out of the tub, wrapping her in another towel, and carried her into the bedroom, placing her on the bed. Carefully, slowly, he dried her off, kissing her breasts, down her abdomen, until finally he breathed on the inside of her thigh, nibbling at the sensitive skin there. She let out a sharp breath.

He spread her for him with his fingers, and gave her a long, languid lick. She arched her back, hissing, burying her hands in his hair, as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud of nerve endings, slipping a finger, then two, into her.

Trapped between his mouth and his fingers, he drove her towards the edge, each time backing away just before she could topple over. Every noise she made, of pleasure and frustration, sending another jolt down his spine to his groin. His face buried in her, he drove her higher and higher with every movement, an ebb and flow like the tide.

"Ungh," she cried out, hands gripping his hair. "Yes. Oh, yes. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

This time, he didn't stop.

* * *

She gave him a dazed smile, then reached her arms out to him and pulled him to her, resting his head on her beating, restless heart as she pulled herself back to Earth. Kissing him, she flipped him onto his back and straddled him, lowering herself onto him with a heated gasp.

She'd show him a thing or two she'd learned from riding.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: We get into a little plot - X-Men style.**

* * *

Tony had decided to throw a huge party, with an 80's theme. Having introduced Steve to the wonders of Arnold, he'd decided to throw together a Terminator costume. Evie teased her hair until it stood out in a riot of frizzy curls, and dressed in a dance costume - high-cut black leotard, legwarmers, and a sweatshirt that fell over one shoulder.

"You look..." Steve squinted as she came out of the bathroom, giving a twirl. "Uh..."

"Flashdance, is what," she laughed.

"Whatever you say," he chuckled, slipping on the sunglasses.

"Says the man in leather pants," she teased.

"Yeah, these aren't the most comfortable thing ever," he tugged at them.

"They make your ass look great, though," she slapped the aforementioned area as she walked past, slipping on a pair of black ballet slippers. Steve blushed.

"Let's get going," he said, and they headed out to the tower.

* * *

"Evie!" Wanda called from across the dance floor. Her hair was gathered and curled in a strange headdress, and she wore a white dress with absolutely giant sleeves. Viz was beside her, in a shimmering coat and blond wig, juggling a glass ball with white-gloved hands.

"Nice!" Evie grinned at them.

"Clint recommended it," Vision explained. His facial markings were still apparent, but he was wearing a thick layer of foundation to cover the red skin. He looked somehow both more and less human than usual, but that might have been the insanely teased mullet and drag-queen eye makeup.

Nat sidled up to them in a pink blouse and brown boots, and was soon joined by Clint, in jean jacket and flannel and wig that flopped into his eyes.

"The Breakfast Club?" Evie grinned. "Love it."

"Flashdance? You know Tony is gonna make them play it once he sees you. That's his favourite."

"I've been practicing," she gave Nat a thumbs-up. "I'm no expert but I'm gonna tear up the floor."

Pepper descended on them then, handing them each a drink, her blonde hair teased out, dressed as Madonna.

"Great costumes, guys! Tony'll be down in a few minutes, he's still fussing over his," she drifted on to the next group of people, as the music started blaring.

"Come on, let's dance!" Evie grabbed Steve's hand. He gave her a panicked look, but she was grinning. "I'll teach you, it's mostly jumping around anyway."

Tony came down the stairs, having shaved - he was dressed as Han Solo. He spotted Evie and pointed at her excitedly, waving. Evie gave him the thumbs up as the opening strains of Billie Jean started playing.

Sam pitched his fedora across the room and started to strut. Everyone clapped, leaving space in the middle of the floor for him to dance. He pulled off a pretty convincing moonwalk, actually.

Next song, Vision led Wanda out onto the floor and started a waltz. Evie took Steve's hand and led him out, too.

"See, waltzing is easy, it's just a box, one two three, one two three," she told him. Natasha was trying to show Clint the same thing - club dancing was more his forte, so Steve didn't feel quite so ridiculous, as he stepped forward. "And then if you lift your arm, I can spin out," she demonstrated, swirling around, and coming back into the circle of his arms.

What a Feeling was up next. Evie tugged her sweatshirt over her head and tossed it into the crowd as she stepped out into the circle made by the dancers, and started to dance, tossing her teased head passionately.

And that's when the lights cut out.

Evie immediately switched on her night vision - she could see the heat signatures of the bodies on the dance floor, but there was a strange figure in the middle, clad in a billowing cape and helmet. People, apart from the Avengers, were starting to panic.

"Remain calm," Friday's voice came over the intercom.

"Yes, remain calm," a British accent, gravelly, rumbled.

Evie summoned her suit, as Steve came charging out with his shield, and Tony was suiting up.

"I wouldn't do that," the voice said, and Steve was flung against the wall while trying to incapacitate the figure.

"Who are you?" Hawkeye barked, hooking an arrow into his bow in a fluid motion.

"I am merely someone who is interested in assisting," he said. Evie suddenly found herself immobilized, the implant in her head ringing, and then her sight going dark.

And when the lights returned, both were gone.

* * *

Evie could only hear herself breathing - her suit was dead, as was her implant - her vision was completely shot. She focused on the sounds around her, but all she heard was silence.

Then the visor of the suit slammed open.

"Hello," came the same voice as before. "I have much to discuss with you. But first, let me restore your vision."

She heard a click, and then she could see again.

Before her was an older man, his face craggy, the years etched deep in the lines around his eyes and mouth. He looked stern, not quite angry.

"Who are you?"

"I'm someone like you," he told her. "And I want to help you."

"Some way of helping me, kidnapping me from my friends. I'm just a barista, I'm not anyone special."

"You and I both know that isn't true," he walked towards her. "I know about your dreams. I know what they did to you. I know they forced a mutation. And I also know that gaining access to you through more... legitimate... channels has been nigh impossible. You have friends in high places."

Evie's eyes widened at that, and then narrowed.

"And those friends in high places will be combing the earth looking for me," she spat.

He laughed.

"I intend you no harm. I just want you to know about yourself, about your powers, and to know that you have choices."

"This doesn't feel like much of a choice."

"It never does," he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "But it will feel like even less of a choice when they decide that our abilities are dangerous. And we get rounded up and branded, like cattle."

"I don't think that will happen," she said evenly. "It's not as black and white as that."

"Isn't it?" he hissed, right in her face. "They're already writing legislation to contain your Avenger friends."

"I'm a believer in not crossing bridges until I come to them," she sucked in a breath. "Now, can you let me go?"

"You've seen what happens," he growled. "A war is coming. You will have to chose a side."

"Maybe. Maybe I'll just go back to making coffee."

"You are terribly naive."

"We've established that you think that, can I go now?" Evie schooled her features into a bored look.

"Your metal suit won't save you," he told her. "Not from me."

"Maybe it won't need to."


	20. Chapter 20

They were gathered in a conference room at the tower, everyone around the table. Nick entered the room, followed by a bald man in a wheelchair - who was flanked by a tall woman with white hair, and a man with a feral look about him, both in black leather.

"Good morning," the bald man said, giving everyone a level look. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier. This is Storm and Wolverine."

"Mutants," Nat whispered to Clint. Steve elbowed her.

"I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. As it were, I know who has your friend. His name is Erik Lehnsherr - otherwise known as Magneto. He has the power of controlling electromagnetic fields and he can bend any metal to his will. He is a very powerful mutant, and he's become more erratic recently."

Yes. The Professor's voice echoed in Steve's head, an answer to his question - Are you a mutant? All will be explained.

"I've been trying to convince both your friend Nick Fury and Miss Lapierre that she needs to develop her mutant abilities."

"Wait, wait," Steve held up a hand. "She's not a mutant."

"Yes, she is. They tortured her until they forced a mutation. She's been ignoring it, but that could potentially be dangerous in most mutants. We've let it be because her abilities seem to be related to seeing the future - not anything that could accidentally hurt someone."

"She never told me this," Steve rubbed his forehead. "I mean, I knew they injected her with stuff - but she never said she was a mutant."

"She's in denial," Fury gave him a sympathetic look.

"But now Erik - Magneto - has captured her, and he is probably intending to turn her to his side. He heads up the Brotherhood of Mutants - a splinter group whose base belief is that mutants are superior to humans, and that there is a war coming between mutants and the rest of humanity. Her predictive abilities, if she develops them, could help his cause immensely."

"So how do we get her back?"

"My usual method is worthless against Erik, and it seems he's developed a way to block me from reaching her, as well. So we might have to go the old-fashioned way. Which is where I need your help."

"I've already got Agent Hill analyzing any camera that could possibly have picked up their movements, but it seems he disabled everything. He's very thorough."

"When he wants something, he can be downright dangerous."

"Because of his abilities, some of us are useless against him," the man named Wolverine spoke. "Anyone whose abilities rely on things that are made of metal."

"I guess I can go old-school," Clint had a gleam in his eye. "I have a yew longbow in storage."

"Good," Wolverine nodded. "If you can think of ways to work around him, the better. I'll help you with that. So will Storm."

"We will get her back," Professor X levelled a gaze directly at Steve, in a way that unsettled him.

* * *

Evie paced the room she was being held in. There was a window, but it was up too high for her to reach. A bed lay against one wall, and there was a desk with a chair, and a couple of books.

She'd been here a week. So far, no sign of the Avengers. Every single day, Magneto came to talk to her. About how the mutants were in danger of being wiped out by the fear of regular people. About how he needed her to fight. About how she could help. It was all she could think about.

She knew this was psychological games he was playing, and she cursed herself for even considering what he was saying.

She just wished Steve were here. It felt like nobody was looking for her.

She curled up on the bed, biting back tears, and tried to sleep.

* * *

A week. It had been an entire week. It felt like they'd looked everywhere, they'd combed the city, then expanded their search to the state, finally the rest of the country – and next would be the rest of the world.

Steve paced the conference room, holding a folder with the information they had so far – pitifully little. It was like they'd disappeared into thin air, which was absolutely impossible. But it seemed like Magneto had fried every camera in New York to escape with Evie.

And Steve wanted to know why.

He hadn't been sleeping or eating properly. Nat had been pushing things at him, but he just hadn't had the appetite. He needed to find her, and he needed to find her now.

She hadn't asked for any of this, and it seemed like knowing him was just dangerous for everyone.

He slammed his hand down on the table, then flipped a chair over, letting out a stream of curse words that would have made Evie cheer.

* * *

The crow hopped forward, tilting his head to the side, before pecking at the eye of a dead soldier lying on the battlefield. He was dressed in grey – and soldiers lay around dressed in blue. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, and far off in the distance, artillery was being fired, the explosions shaking the ground.

The soldiers – they were all familiar. Tony, Steve, Clint – all of them in uniform. All of them fallen.

The crow looked straight at her, and opened his mouth.

 _Augury._

* * *

She woke with a start, sweat streaming down her face, stinging her eyes. The Civil War? Since when had her dreams become a PBS documentary? She rolled away from the wall and sat up, starting when she realized she wasn't alone.

"What did you see?" Magneto asked.

"Nothing," she growled, sticking her chin out defiantly.

"I can wait here all day," he folded his hands across his chest.

"Destruction. Civil war. Everyone I knew was dead," she sighed.

"And now do you believe me? It is coming. And it will be bigger than just your friends. They will hunt you, you know. The so-called 'ordinary' people. They will hunt us all down and exterminate us."

"Maybe it doesn't mean what you think it means," she sat cross-legged on the bed, tugging at the leotard she'd been wearing since the Halloween party. She wished she could shower.

"And maybe it does," he leaned back in the chair at the side of the bed. "Are you ready to fight for your place in the world? Or are you just going to lay down and die?"

"I'm not a fighter," she told him.

"You can be, if you choose to be. If you choose to harness your powers. You have been given a great gift, the gift of Sight. You can claim what is rightfully yours."

"And how do I do that?" a plan began to form in her mind, one that involved playing along – until he released her.

"What is your name?"

"Evie," she said, confused.

"No," he shook his head, his blue eyes holding hers intensely. "What is your real name?"

 _Augury._


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Slow in getting stuff done lately - good ol' life getting in the way! Hopefully I'll have some more by this weekend! Thanks for all of your reviews and notes, it really makes my day to see something in my inbox.**

* * *

Evie had a headache.

Magneto had been pushing her through different exercises, and while she was certain they weren't doing anything to develop whatever powers he seemed to think she had, she figured it was better to play along. Every single day ended with her eyelid twitching and her head pounding.

She looked out the window of her room, tracing the bars with her fingertips. She smiled as her little friend, a crow she'd named Flick, hopped up, tilting his head to the side. She crumbled some bread from her dinner tray and tossed it out the window, and the bird pecked at it happily.

The bird looked up at her, and suddenly, images flooded her mind. She was soaring above the world, looking down at everything below in a way that made her stomach flip. As the crow gazed at her, his black eye glittering like a jewel, comprehension began to dawn on her. Evie immediately started thinking of Steve, and the Avengers tower, and her friends to be found there. She reached for the book on the nightstand, and began flipping through pages. She didn't have any writing paper, or pencils - just the ketchup that came with her dinner. She pulled out the flyleaf, and using her finger, wrote on it.

Follow this crow. He knows where I am.

She didn't sign it, in case it was intercepted, and rolled it up, then held it out the window, picturing in her mind the crow delivering it to the tower. The bird hopped forward, and took it in his beak, giving her back the same images, before taking off into the twilight.

She sat back on the floor, holding her head in her hands.

* * *

Clint sat on the roof of the tower. It was his favourite place to be, looking out over the entire city. Bird's-eye view, really. It was the best place to get away from everyone else, too.

He looked out over the sunrise that was dawning over the city that never slept, hugging his knees to his chest.

A crow appeared, inky wings flapping wildly as he landed beside Clint. Clint squinted, the sun behind the crow, and noticed he was carrying something, that he hopped forward to give to him.

Clint reached out his hand and took it, opening the torn paper. His eyes widened in comprehension, and he ran back down into the stairwell, holding out his hand for the bird to land on.

* * *

Steve looked up from the kitchen table as the door banged open. He was drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper, not that he understood a good half of what they were talking about.

It was Clint, whose face was flushed, and... a bird?

Clint, catching his breath, held out the note, which Steve took.

"Oh my God," his breath hitched as he read it. "Get everyone. Especially Tony, Viz, Rhodey and Sam - the guys who can fly, you know?"

"On it!" Hawkeye turned on his heel and zipped out of the room, leaving the crow sitting on the back of a chair. The bird tilted his head to the right, eyeing Steve, and let out a little squawk.

* * *

"He better not shit on my floor," Tony grumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Shut up," Nat said, leaning forward on the table. "We need a plan."

"The plan is simple - they need to go ahead and give us the coordinates, and we'll follow."

"Have you guys listened to a damn thing I've said?" Logan appeared in the doorway. "He can control metal. That instantly disables most of you. Who is left, then?"

Viz looked around uncomfortably, and raised his hand. So did Wanda.

"See, that's not so bad," Logan shrugged. "Can you carry her?"

Viz nodded, staring at his hands. If it was somehow possible for him to blush, he was. Wanda, sitting across the table from him, smiled at him, trying to catch his eye.

"Here's the plan, then. You're going ahead. You need to disable Magneto, immediately. There are probably other mutants with him, but none as strong. We'll follow. And we're gonna storm the castle, so to speak. But if Magneto isn't down, we can't do anything."

Steve looked at Logan gratefully, who shrugged.

* * *

Vision and Wanda stood side by side on the roof of the tower. Tony, in his suit, was scanning them for any traces of metal.

"Clean," he said, relieved. Viz looked down at his companion, and bent to pick her up, her arms going around his neck, as he gently cradled her to his chest.

Looking back on his companions for reassurance, he rose off of the tower, and followed the crow as he flew into the West.

* * *

They were... somewhere in Wisconsin, if his geography was correct, and it usually was. He was trying to focus on the mission, and not on the girl who was curled up in his arms, her head cradled in the spot where his neck met his shoulder. She was an enigma to him - he didn't know why she affected him in such a different way, why he seemed to turn into a fumbling idiot the second she was in the room. He inhaled deeply, the fruity smell of her shampoo filling his nostrils as he followed the crow, who began to descend in a circular pattern, letting out a loud caw.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Mmhmm," she responded. "I'm just happy we're finally doing something. It feels like ages. And we'll get her back. Steve will be so happy."

Coming to a halt in a clearing in the woods, he landed gently, and placed Wanda on her feet. She brushed herself off, and took his hand.

"Come on, let's go!"


End file.
